In The Beginning There Was Nothing, Which Exploded
by AkiDragonwings
Summary: A raving maniacal redhead, a grumpy elf that manages to turn anger into an art, a charming dwarf who becomes really democratic in feeling like killing everyone and some other unfortunate souls on the way, all but one other soul who is blessed by luck and is ridiculously awesome. What happens when Fenris makes the first move at the wrong time and then they embark on a trip to Antiva
1. So Far, So Good, So Fucking What

**The general chapters are in third person, but not this one. I made the tradition of Hawke barging into first person storytelling when she's drunk.**

**This is NOT a new story. It's a cut-out of the main story because some may already know it's fucking long and my narrative tones go from full-on descriptive hell to full-on sarcastic flop. **

**I resolve to give you the cut-out because well, my story is long and if you like it, you can just read it.**

* * *

><p><strong>I WANT<strong> to be a saint. I want to save souls by millions. I want to do good far and wide, if I can. I want to fight evil! I want my life-sized statue in every town square, I'm talking five foot six tall, red hair, hazel eyes –

Wait a second,

What are you doing here?

Well, the only thing that brought me here - the only decisive thing – is that I am utterly drunk, _deeply besotted_ and I just can't take it anymore! I _want_ you to know me, see the world through my eyes – although I won't paint a very accurate picture, let's be serious, I'm drunk out of my mind! But no matter. I want this to be love at first sight.

Behold: your hero for the duration, an overly sarcastic human who doesn't give two spitting coppers over people's opinions on her! Nope. I'm free and I'm self-made. Well, it's not a great result though – I'm tormented by guilt, I have a moral abhorrence for myself that never goes away! But it's all hidden deep down and I never let anyone see it.

I'm not going to tell you why!

Well, not until further on.

But think it over, what I'm trying to say.

Anyway, apparently I'm a leader, appointed suddenly and silently by others. Oh, it's not so bad. That is, if you can resist everyone spitting in your face when things don't go their way. People take out their frustrations on me all the time! You know why? I don't. I can only suspect it's because I appear strong and resistant and a bit bossy, so it's like I welcome criticism wherever I go! No, no one lashes out on the nice persons, they go for the mean, careless one that has something to say about anything.

I'm monstrously strong. No, not like a demon or an abomination. Perish the thought. I hate those blighted things. You can't imagine how many of them disturb me in my sleep and try to talk me into letting them possess me. They try giving me riddles to lure me into their games, because I love riddles. But no, I don't give in. To be honest, even if I were born in the Imperium and was taught that blood magic is ok, I still wouldn't do it. Why do the thing everyone else does? No. I consider myself a non-conformist.

Oh, but I still hate magic in all its senses. Kind of contradictory isn't it? I root for the little guy, sure, I'm a mage myself, but I'm a bit of a cynic, I think. I still assume innocence first, it's only natural. Hah! I think you're confused to no end! Fenris certainly is. Oh, it was so fun in the beginning. One second he screams at me like a little porcupine that wants his lollipop, calling me 'clown mage' , 'witch', 'troll', 'fasta efututo femina' and other names in his language. The next second he's nice, listens to me, gives me a sort of, I suspect, illusion that he understands me? Imagine his rage, as he started to realize I'm not so bad. I think he was angrier about that, rather than the simple fact that I was a mage. Imagine my rage, as I can't give him a proper answer to his questions anyway!

Am I unique? By no means. There are certainly lots of other mages like me who don't use their powers and train in the painful arts of the sword. I don't know any, but I'd really like to.

Go ahead, close this tab! Spit on me. Revile me. I dare you. Cast me out of your intellectual orbit. Delete this story from your bookmarks or unfollow it.

No. I don't want you to do all that.

Don't do that.

**DON'T DO IT!**

I want you to know my story. Understand it; maybe you can. Of course you can.

I'm having fun, aren't you? Somehow I got both Anders and Fenris to hate my guts. Neither of them agreed with me. They considered me deprived and crazy. They probably both thought I was a hypocrite from their side of view on mages. Hey, what can you do? I'm not taking sides. They don't know what they're talking about!

People like me usually die young, but somehow I managed to survive. Not in the way I wanted to, but it could be worse. If you live longer than my age like this, and some do, who knows? You'll get tougher, stronger, more resistant, or more _monstrous_. You'll know so much about suffering that you will go through rapid cycles of cruelty and kindness, insight and maniacal blindness. _You'll probably go mad_. Then you'll be sane again. Then you may forget who you are.

**And that scares the shit out of me**. With sprinkles and then some.

I don't want to use magic! But of course, the universe is little if at all known, apart from its extremely cruel sense of humor! Turns out I have to sometimes – and I have to train my powers for that. You know how annoying that is? Years and years of getting scratched, scarred, beaten, falling on the ground from the sword training and heavy armour, but no, I have to train in magic too. You know how difficult it is to try and concentrate on a single spell, because one wrong move can set the house on fire? My father gave up on it after a while, because I became insufferable - I know how to do that very well! But who can blame him. He didn't like it either. I think he felt some kind of relief.

But now I'm alone and I don't know what to do…

**I'm going to take care of you in this chapter.** So rest easy and read on. You won't be sorry. You think I don't want new readers? My name is thirst, baby. I must have you!

I'm kidding, I drank enough for tonight, I'm not thirsty anymore.

Yeah, I take care of everyone else in my group, but who's going to take care of me? I say I don't need help, but more because there's really no one who can help me in this little matter.

I don't know my present view of things. I like throwing fireballs from time to time – it's really entertaining and I PROMISE if I ever decide to swear off magic for good, the last thing I will use it for is to **SET FENRIS'S ASS ON FIRE**.

Oh, sure, he's my friend, I admitted it. Can't take it back now. But he gets me so mad sometimes. Not with the magic rant anymore, no, he started to cool off. For now…Well, don't be silly! Of course he's going to keep badgering me about it. But I think what grinds my gears about him is that he's so … Bah. What's the word? What's the _nice _word for it?

Independent. Little independent private Fenris. With his flat, unperturbed, dark look, that sometimes feels like he's stripping me with his mind. Who says two words like 'Good morning' and what he really means is 'It's not exactly good, but that's the appropriate salute as I understand. I am grumpy today, because I like water being wet, so I don't like things to change. I want to remain nonchalant and careless because I am a former slave. I don't want you touching me. Go away. But, well, you can stay… entertain me with your limited intelligence. I can still take pleasure in the small things.'

I don't even know what to make of him anymore! Sometimes he's nice, sometimes he turns into an irritating spiky hyena that won't shut up. Ah, what did I ever do to him?

But I digress, again, like the dwarves like to say.

So for some reason now he thinks it's nice to try and convince me to go home. What's he gonna do? Punch me unconscious and carry me to my room? He can never defeat me! Well… Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself. I did overpower him on the beach, but I'm so drunk now.

I'm BESOTTED!

So let me set the scenery … We are in the Hanged Man, right? It looks like it. It certainly _smells _like it.

"Allow me to escort you back to your mansion," Fenris said knightly as he approached me.

Do I look like a prize cow for the royal prince? Or maybe a little defenceless princess whose high heels you will have to carry because I can't walk in them anymore.

"I'd rather stay here and boil over that asshole," I said nonchalantly, staring at the wall.

"You can boil over it on the way home," he said flatly. I didn't look at him.

"Oh, no, I wouldn't dare to be insolent and displace my anger onto you on the way back," I said sarcastically, since he has done it so many times I've lost count.

He chuckled because he understood my subtlety, "You can try. I'm not made out of glass."

"Well with that impending argument," I said sarcastically. "Who can say no to free badgering."

I went to Varric and bend down to hug him. I needed it. He seemed surprised but couldn't say no to that. He pat me on the back three times and told me to watch my ass. Asschabs, why did I have to say that. I wonder if he feels confused that he has to Bianca's to love. Oh, I hate that name. Forget. Forget. Forget.

I tried my best to walk out of the tavern without tripping, holding to every table while Fenris remained silent and looked at me as if were a gigantic statue of Andraste that was about to fall down on the poor zealots.

We got out of the tavern and I looked for the closest wall I could hold on to. I dangled for a few feet and rushed to the wall to climb the stairs. I could feel Fenris stopping behind me with his arms crossed and a smug grin.

"Tell me when you're done," he said nonchalantly.

"It's called swaying," I said half-heartedly.

"It's called tripping on your feet," he retorted and came next to me.

"Aren't you afraid I'll fireball you by accident?" I asked him while trying not to hic.

"You're a witch and a drunk," he said meanly, but with a short smile he couldn't hide even from my impaired vision.

"You love me," I said childishly while grimacing and almost tripped.

He caught me quickly and forcefully placed my arm around his shoulder, and putting another on my hip. "Oh, my feelings for you go beyond cosmic proportions," he said sarcastically and proceeded to walk me forward.

Even in my drunkenness, I was scared out of my pants. Somehow I never managed to accidentally touch him on his markings or well, anything. Even now, I was holding onto his covered shoulder and tried to think of a good way to just run for the hills.

"Oh, I know I'm a bit high-maintenance but you're no better than me, Sir," I said in entertainment and realized I could barely hear myself. Everything sounded like out of a barrel.

"I did not advertise myself as otherwise," Fenris said flatly, squeezing my wrist up on his shoulder again since I was slipping.

"Well, it seems to me tha-

He pushed me away strongly and got out his sword. There was a group of lovely gentlemen in which he ran into like a blue-lit snowglobe. I fell like a dead corpse and hit my back into the wall. I tried to get up as one of those lovely gentlemen was shaking the ground with his fat pace to me. I grabbed onto his foot and Fenris's sword plunged in his back and went out his neck as he fell. He held the man on his collar and threw him to the closest wall like a dead weasel.

"Good call," I said half-stuttering. The whole of Lowtown was spinning with me.

He didn't say anything. He lifted me up by the wrists and I tripped heavily onto him and I felt his spiky gauntlet thrusting into a region far souther than my hip. "Woah, hello sailor," I said in amusement.

He quickly put his gauntlet away, raised it to my hip and cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Forgive me," he said knightly, as if he had committed a crime.

As we managed to climb all the stairs without falling over each other and rolling over downhill again, we got into the Chantry square and I told him I needed to sit down. He rushed me to the stairs of High Estate District and put me down.

I took a few shots of air and cleared my head. Shit.

"Fucking Babette," I muttered.

"What?"

"Mother has the DeLauncet family over. It totally slipped my mind. Well, let's hope I don't puke on someone's shoes."

He sighed, "No."

"What do you mean no?"

"No as in you're not going home if your mother has company."

"Hey! I'm the proprietor of that house, I can walk in whenever I want, in whichever state I want."

"No, your mother owns the place since you're too lazy to put in your name."

I looked at him for two seconds in silence so he could catch my drift. "That's an astounding argument, Fenris," I said sarcastically.

He growled and rolled his eyes, "Just come with me," he said in annoyance and pulled me up by the wrist again. It was strange, but him dragging me by the wrist up to his mansion seemed, apart from childish and a bit painful, very…I was drunk, I didn't know the word. It was nice. Let's leave it at that.

"Woah, wait, wait," I said half-sleepily right before his door.

"What is it now?" he asked grumpily.

I dangled on for the bench at the ivy wall where I waited for him in my stupid, ridiculous clothes after I ran away from the ball. He followed me in silence, probably cursing at me in his mind. I searched for the paper and tobacco in my pack and started rolling one.

"May I ask what the hell you're doing?" Fenris asked me as he sat down next to me.

"What's it look like I'm doing? I'm rolling a – what's the word… cigarillo."

"Do I even want to know what that is?"

"You smoke it."

"You mean like those large brown things you drag and blow smoke with?"

"Yes, like that, only smaller and it doesn't kill you that fast."

"Why do you do that if it kills you?"

I rolled my eyes. "Everybody dies. What doesn't kill you on the spot isn't so bad."

"It's bad if it destroys your physical condition, on which you solely depend on as a fighter."

"Fighter, schmiter, I haven't smoked one in years and you barely find them anywhere but in Antiva," I said and he frowned at me. I drew an intentional fake smile. "I'm rich, suck it."

He shook his head and crossed his arms, looking in the distance. "Is this going to become a regular thing?"

I raised an eyebrow. "No. I'm not that stupid. I'm also not that rich," I said childishly as I finished making the cigarillo.

"Good," he said grumpily while remaining with his arms crossed.

"Oh, I'm sorry, how does this affect your already so affected life?" I asked sarcastically.

"It doesn't," he said flatly.

"You sure?" I said as I blew a circle in his face. He moved away from its trajectory and grimaced.

"Foolish," he muttered aggressively and shook his head.

"So we're both of a mind that I can go now, yes?" I said playfully before blowing out a tornado of small circles.

"You're not going anywhere," he said determinedly. "Not dead drunk and reeking of smoke."

"Well that concludes the mystery of Hawke being a lady or not," I said nonchalantly.

"Wasn't it you who said a model is just a cheap imitation of the real thing?"

I laughed, "Well I don't know how the real thing is like. You'll have to be the judge of that."

"Perhaps I will. Are you done?" he asked grumpily.

"Wanna see something cool?" I said playfully, ignoring him. He didn't answer. "Alright, since you're dying to know," I said sarcastically and took a large drag.

I concentrated as best as I could and blew out the smoke while with my left hand I played with a forcewave that formed a huge… well, let's say this is what a dragon would look like after it was beaten, tortured and malnourished for a thousand years. And it had only one horn. In a split second I tried to save the moment and created a small fireball in the air that looked as if it was breathed out by the dragon.

"Impressive," he said, after flinching a bit at the sight of the fire.

"I told you it would be cool," I said confidently.

"Is this the way in which you are training your powers? Because it would be a sad state of affairs when I'm not a mage, and yet I'm bringing reason to this particular equation."

I frowned and turned to him. "It's not," I said in a determined voice and narrowed my eyes at him. "And you never let me have any fun."

He chuckled softly and looked at me, "I _think _that's for the best."

"Poor Hawke. Deeply disturbed and irrevocably crazy. What is she going to do without Fenris to be the royal buzzkill and pain in her ass, which as of late is open for accidental cupping, apparently."

"Oh? It seems I've climbed the ladder from my original position," he said sarcastically.

"From major to royal? You bet," I said grumpily and threw what was left of the improvised filter.

"Are you done? I'm tired."

"Too tired to cup another feel?" I asked childishly.

He frowned and got up, then sighed and pulled me up too. My drunken state and the inertia were not playing for the right team, because I tripped against him and he had to catch me again. As he caught me by the ribs, my hand landed somewhere unintentionally and I could have sworn these would be the last seconds of my life. But my reason was long past its normal 'barely there' and I just stood there with my gauntlet on his behind and he was frowning colossaly at me.

"You know how it goes. An eye for an eye, a cheek for a cheek," I said confidently and grinned at him.

He gave me a homicidal look and if I were in my right mind, this was the time to take a run for it. Instead I just stood there being eyed by an elf who was probably going to implode inside, strike a fist in my heart and having to explain later to my mother that he got mad at me for touching him inappropriately so he had to kill me.

His look grew darker and he pressed his lips angrily. I felt his hand moving away from where he was holding me and I flinched defensively and landed with my back against the wall, since I thought he was going to strike me. As if a wall would help. Instead, his gauntlet reached for my own behind and the spikes hurt like hell because apparently he didn't shy away from squeezing it forcefully. His face was screaming ferocious murder just a few inches away from mine.

"You let go, I let go," he said in a deep voice as he eyed me insistently.

"You're not very good at this game," I said confidently and chuckled. "I could stay like this all night."

He gave me a dark, sensual smirk and placed his other hand against the wall near my face, "So can I. It's certainly not an unpleasant sensation," he said nonchalantly.

Drat.

Better switch strategies.

"Fenris," I said slowly while grinning. "Who would have thought?"

His grin started to disappear and his eyebrows lifted shortly as I reached for his ear and half-whispered, "I hope you realize I'm besotted out of my mind and I won't remember this in the morning. My last voice of reason that is going to die in the next seconds reminds you that you're crossing the line from playful to taking advantage of very quickly."

He eyed me with a dark look and I felt his breath on my neck as his lips reached for my ear. Suddenly fear was not the strongest sensation I felt, and it wasn't in my legs either. "Then let _go_," he said nonchalantly, his dark grin coming back.

That's it. That's all I remember.

Sorry to disappoint.

I lied. I LIED.

I'm not going to properly take care of you in this chapter.

Oh, now you really wish Fenris narrated this, don't you? Bah.

Wait 'til you hear his load of crap.

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><p><strong>Sunrise, Fenris's Mansion<strong>

Oh, the soft breeze of nothing... it was marvellous, and Maker that feel of the cigarillo smoke that I hadn't tasted in years and oh, the smell of strawberries and,

BANG

I fell out of bed, hitting my head to the floor, covered in the sheets. And oh… OH. The pain…

The door opened and I turned my head up from the ground to see Fenris with his vest undone standing in the doorway. No gauntlets, no pads, just a whole lotta different, fishbone-like markings on his shoulders and arms. The light coming out from the hallway blinded me and I growled.

"What are you doing in my house?" I demanded, half-stuttering.

"You asked me to redecorate it so it would be the spitting image of my mansion," Fenris said sarcastically and grabbed me by the wrist to get me up. I didn't realize at first, but as I let go of the sheets I was standing in my black smallclothes so I immediately covered myself with the sheet again and he coughed awkwardly, looking away.

"Andraste's flaming butt, what happened last night?" I asked in outrage.

Fenris chuckled softly, "You drank, you dangled, you fainted."

"You really don't like storytelling do you?" I asked sarcastically. My eyes widened suddenly. Open vest, me half-naked, _his _room. Oh no…

"I prefer to stick with the cold truth, so there's no means of embellishment," he said flatly, resuming his nonchalant statue position.

"Fenris you have three seconds to clarify what else happened, with or without embellishment," I demanded firmly.

He lifted his eyebrows, opened his mouth and looked away. "No- nothing else happened."

I frowned and squeezed my sheets that were wrapped around me and stood my ground. "Then why am I almost naked?"

"You get hot during the nigh- , how should I know?" he said angrily and frowned.

"This is your room. The premises expect _you _to know."

"You crawled in here saying it's the only room you like and smashed the door in my face. You're the only one who should know."

"I did?" I asked bewilderedly and lifted my eyebrows. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," he sighed. "I'm the idiot that insisted you don't go home."

"Wait. You took care of me?"

"Is there something in that sentence that seems too complex for you to grasp?"

"Uh, yes," I said and raised an eyebrow. "I barge in here uninvited all the time and disturb your peace."

"And what does that have to do with anything?"

"I don't know," I said. "I don't even know what I'm saying. My head is exploding."

He left without a word and closed the door. Ah, great. I offended him again. How do I always manage to do that… I rapidly put my griffon chainmail robe back on and lifted my pants up while almost tripping over them. When I started to put my boots back on the door opened. Fenris walked to this table and placed two cups of something on it.

"Please," he said knightly and gestured at the cups.

I sat down and smelled the cup suspiciously and he frowned at me. "What?"

"It's just green tea, for the love of –"

"I know, I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing," he said commandingly and took a sip from the cup.

"I'm sorry," I said childishly and smiled.

He laughed shortly and contained his smirk. "You are unbelievable."

"What did I do?" I asked playfully.

"What didn't you do," he said nonchalantly, shaking his head.

"Please don't tell me I forced myself onto you and you _refused._"

He gave me an arrogant smirk. "Would that be such a tragedy?"

"Well – yes, of course. That would be the cherry on top of all tragedies."

"Men dying in wars and children starving on the street, taken away from their mothers, but my rejecting your attempt of seduction is still the worst of all tragedies."

"Cut the crap, Fenris. Did I or did I not?"

"Who said _you_ did anything?" he asked nonchalantly.

"What?"

"I'm kidding. Nobody attempted anything on anybody."

"Well that's a sha-… I mean, good," I said awkwardly and cleared my throat. "Wait a second… I assaulted you last night."

He chuckled softly. "It was more of a mutual assault."

"Is that why I don't remember anything else? Did you punch it out of me?"

He looked up and raised an eyebrow. "In retrospect, that would have probably been the wisest idea."

"Then what happened?" I asked angrily.

He smirked. "What do you think? I won."

"What do you mean you won?"

"After a very questionable while, you eventually," he smirked, "let go."

"Bullshit."

"Believe what you will."

"That's not the whole story."

He laughed. "Do you think I would make it that easy for you to win a perfectly solemn bet we sealed with a perfectly dignified handshake?"

"Wait. So you're _making it _hard? Like, you're _making _it – anything?" I asked bewilderedly, as if I just realized something.

He grinned shortly and looked down, then back up at me. "Can I admit something to you without you getting the wrong idea?"

"I… think so?" I said an raised an eyebrow.

He gave me a dark and piercing half-smile. "You're adorable."

"Excuse me?" I asked in outrage.

"I don't need to repeat myself," he said flatly and took another sip of his tea.

"If I weren't hungover I would so beat the crap out of you right now."

"Exactly my point."

"Oh, bugger off."

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><p><strong>2 months later, Sunrise, Ending up hungover again at Fenris<strong>

Fenris took a sip of the now traditional hangover tea. "I seem to recall a certain promise you made to me," he said, grinning to no end.

"I make a lot of promises. You'll have to refresh my memory."

"You said you would offer your hand at helping with my back problem."

"Oh, sure. After two months of refusing. Why not? Kick a man when he's down."

"What does that mean?"

"Hungover and ready to be killed. Always a pleasure."

"I didn't mean now, necessarily."

I grinned. "Well, what the hell… Since you don't let me flirt with you, I might as well just flirt with death."

He gestured to bring it on. "By all means, flirt. I'm curious how you can even manage that."

I frowned at him and said firmly, "Just shut up and get on the bed."

He snorted at the irony of my comment. As if that's the best I could do. Oh, you want flirting? I'll give you flirting. You'll fall in love with me by the end of this very morning, you arrogant whiteheaded bastard.

"I don't see you on the bed, Fenris. Or do you prefer you sit with your face down on this narrow bench?"

"No, I'd prefer the bed."

"Then take you shirt off and go already."

"I don't know if that's the wisest way to go."

I searched my mind for a while. "Your markings…?"

He sighed. "Yes, my markings."

"Fine, leave it on."

He laid on the bed facedown and I couldn't help but say a short prayer in my head. I lifted my sleeves and… hello there. No, stop it. Fenris's ass is not the thing that you have to take care of right now. Get yourself together, woman.

I blew hot air into my palms and rubbed them a few too many times, and then

"Whenever you're ready. This year, if it's not too much to ask."

"Sir, yes, Sir," I said sarcastically. "I'm going for the shoulders, just as a heads-up."

"Have at it. Good luck," he said nonchalantly and put his hands under his chest.

I do need some luck; luck would be nice.

I placed my hands on the back of his shoulders and squeezed, then placed my thumbs on his neck and pressed on his skin gently. He didn't move or say anything, which was a good sign. Unless I accidentally pressed a blind point and put him to sleep. I tried not to breathe too heavily and went down to his scapula.

"Maker's butthole, that's a stiff back," I said in amazement. "How do you even move in combat?"

"I'm an elf," he muttered and I could feel him rolling his eyes. "We were born flexible."

"Good to know," I said, thinking out loud and quickly tried to think of a continuation. "I could have you join me at the Circus. We're short on handsome flying acrobats."

"Imagine that," he said sarcastically in his grumpy voice.

His vest was so thick I could barely do anything. I pressed as hard as I could all around his back. He growled suddenly, "Just undo the straps. This is pointless."

"You wanna die in pain?" I asked him angrily.

"I'm used to it," he said knightly, with an obvious hint of bitterness.

I undid his vest and swallowed heavily, for not only did those markings seem strange and demonic, for lack of a better word, but his back was also filled with firm, sculptured muscles, almost glowing in that tan skin of his. He was breathtaking, but I despised the markings. Isabela couldn't shut up about how sexy those tattoos looked, but I had never agreed – and now I couldn't disagree more strongly again. It was a graphic, macabre symbol of a curse all over his body, masked by a seemingly pleasant, flowing design. And that didn't make it any easier on his pain from them. No, it was a curse he had to bear every day.

I concentrated carefully and tried to touch only the space between the markings. He didn't have many on his back – just a few around the ribs and two on the back of his shoulders. I pressed freely now and he didn't seem to protest, so I continued.

"What's wrong?" he asked suddenly.

"Nothing, it's not important."

"Hawke."

"My back is starting to hurt from this position. It's a bit uncomfortable standing."

"Then stop."

"Would you strike me if I said there's another solution? But you might not like it."

He chuckled, understanding my drift. "By all means… ride me like a horse," he probably said sarcastically.

"I don't really know if you were sarcastic or not."

"I… don't know either. But we've already embarked on the boat of the utterly ridiculous. This might not make such a big difference."

"Tell my mother I love her, alright?"

"I will."

I climbed on top of him and he groaned. "Thank the gods you're wearing light armor."

"Insulting the service provider is usually not the way to go if you want to survive while you're under them," I said grumpily.

"My apologies," he said nonchalantly and turned his head with a grin. "You're light as a feather."

"So… really? How come you're not killing me or something?"

"Killing the service provider is usually not the way to go when you want your problem fixed," he imitated me in amusement.

"If this is a dream," I started sarcastically and sighed. "I need better dreams."

"I assume by 'better' you mean the bed-breaking kind of dreams?"

"Yes, exactly so. And apparently only you can provide that, how lucky of me!"

"Are you subtly trying to hire me for that service?"

"I'm sorry. Did you hire me to fix your back?"

He laughed softly. "Then I suppose I shall have to be a charity."

"I don't take charity," I said firmly, and squeezed his skin a bit too hard, but he didn't flinch.

"Well, now I just feel foolish," he said nonchalantly, pertaining to how he was accepting charity.

I frowned. "What I'm doing for you is not a charity. It's out of honest desire to see you better and maybe perish that hideous humpback look of yours. Yours would be a charity."

"Do I look like a woman?" he asked angrily.

I chuckled. "It would certainly explain why you whine and complain all the time."

I could feel him rolling his eyes. "Never mind."

For a while longer, we didn't speak. I concentrated on my work and when I was done, he seemed to be dead, "Uh… Fenris?"

"Mmm..," he just muttered in a sleepy voice.

I swung on the side and sat on the bed, looking at him. He seemed so peaceful and … cute. He was either enveloped in utter relaxation or I simply killed him.

"I take it I've done a pretty good job," I said happily.

He groaned again and opened his eyes, "You have no idea."

* * *

><p><strong>1 month later, The Hanged Man<strong>

"A little bird told me there was a noble woman spotted leaving a certain Tevinter elf's mansion a few times in the morning," Varric said charmingly as I drank my beer and I immediately choked on it and spilled it out.

"You're spying on me again? Is that some silent punishment from the last ten you said you'd keep for 'rainy days'?" I asked defensively in an angry tone.

"No, of course not. Please," Varric said charmingly. "Just keeping an eye out for my favourite crazy human."

"Sure," I said and narrowed my eyes. "I bet you know what colour my smallclothes are too."

"That's all Rivaini," Varric said confidently. "What do you take me for?"

"You mean apart from being an overly nosy dwarf obsessed with control?" I asked sarcastically.

"Cut the crap and explain yourself, Pantaloons," he said charmingly and took a sip from his pint.

"There's nothing to explain," I said firmly.

"You can't bullshit the bullshitter, Hawke."

I sighed. "If I tell you will you please keep it to yourself? As in _just _to yourself. No realistic or wild stories."

"Sure. Your secret's safe with me. As well as your walk of shame," he said warmly.

"Walk of shame? Ugh, you're getting this all wrong," I said grumpily.

"Maybe you're getting it all wrong. There's only so many answers to the question 'Why are you spending nights in a man's house?'"

"He asked me to help with his back problem. So I did. I'm nice. End of story."

He laughed heavily. "Right, that's all there is to the story. You can give me a tiara and call me the Princess of Orzammar."

"I thought you didn't have princesses in Orzammar."

"Talk, Pantaloons."

"Look, there's nothing more to it. We leave The Hanged Man and walk home together, out of plain necessity and sometimes he invites me for drinks and –"

"And?"

"And I rub his stiff back until he falls asleep. End of story."

"Then why did you sometimes leave in the morning?"

"Because I'm too tired or buzzed so I just go into the next room and sleep it off. We wake up and drink tea, then I'm out of there."

Varric's eyebrow drew so high it almost went out of its orbit. "You're shitting me."

"I shit you not," I said warmly and shrugged.

"So there's nothing going on? You just talk, drink and occasionally you touch him and he _lets _you."

"It's just his back for pit's sake. What do you take me for?" I asked angrily.

"A doofus who doesn't realize the angsty Tevinter elf next door has the hots for you."

"Right. 'Cause that's what men do when they crush on a woman. They ask for back rubs and then say goodbye."

Varric chuckled, "Well what do you expect? He's not your ordinary heartbreaker."

"Varric," I sighed. "I'm not even sure he knows what that means."

"Of course he doesn't," he said charmingly. "You might just have to spell it out for him."

"Me?" I asked in outrage. "He can sort his own intimate problems."

"Are you seriously trying to bullshit me into thinking you don't want to touch each other in your special places while you're 'fixing his back problem'?" he asked in amusement.

"He could have asked for it a lot of times and he didn't."

"Ask?" Varric laughed. "You're adorable, Hawke."

"Say that one more time and I'll cut you," I said angrily.

Varric raised his hands in peace. "Look, Miss Purity, can I ask just how much you drink with him?"

"Like the amount?" I asked bewilderedly.

"Yeah, like how shitfaced you get at his place."

"Not much. Two glasses of wine maybe."

Varric said in amusement, "Well there you go. You need to get him drunk to see what he really wants."

I raised an eyebrow, "I'm not interested in what he 'really wants'."

"When you're done lying to yourself, listen to my advice – I'll make sure all of us somehow become busy at Satinalia. He's not going to shy away from alcohol in a place he'd find utterly ridiculous and enraging."

"I hope there's more to this – like how we'll even convince him to _go _to Satinalia."

"What's the big deal? He's done it before. Then again, we stood in a bazar and sold junk the whole night, but at least he didn't blow up and killed everybody, so I think he's good to go."

I crossed my arms. "You've overlooked the part where_ I_ would blow up in such a place."

"Oh, Hawke, I know you're a rebel little boy queen, but it won't kill you to throw on a dress and strap on a pair. See? You'll still be the best of both worlds."

"Absolutely and positively no," I said firmly and crossed my arms.

"Positively no," Varric chuckled. "That's exactly what this is," he gestured dramatically. "DENIAL."

"Since when are you so psychoanalytic?" I asked perceptively.

"It's a vicious cycle," Varric said charmingly. "You'll get used to it."

**Did I take care of you well in this chapter? Yes I did, come on. Admit it. Well, it doesn't matter anymore, because I have to leave now. That's it for me. Going back to third person before the mighty author catches and beats the crap out of me. Maybe I'll barge into this story again when I'm drunk and ecstatic again. 'Til then, Hawke out!**


	2. And All Hell Broke Loose

**I resolved to skip the Satinalia chapter and you can read it in my mother story Sunrise, Sunset. **

* * *

><p><strong>Somewhere In Time, The Hanged Man<strong>

"So, what happened? Did he sweep you off your feet or did you carry his drunken ass to the tent?" Varric asked eagerly as he caught Hawke alone for once.

"I'm not telling you anything you evil control-freak son of a bitch who planned the whole thing out," Hawke said meanly.

"Oh, grow up. I merely manipulated you two with one little sentence and threw two bottles of wine on a chilly romantic road in the dark," Varric said charmingly. "I could do _much _better if I really wanted to."

"_Don't _do anything anymore," Hawke said defensively. "I mean it Varric, you've got serious problems."

"I'll get myself checked if you do," Varric said grumpily. "Tell me already."

"No!" Hawke said childishly.

"Alright. Then I guess I'll just have to get it out of him," Varric said manipulatively.

Hawke laughed, "I'm gonna be the Queen of Ferelden before _he _tells you anything. And you won't be getting anything out of me either. Any other strategies?"

"I hereby _punish _you to tell me the truth," Varric said confidently and grinned. "Didn't see that one coming?"

Hawke raised an eyebrow and shook her head, "I'm getting dumber and dumber by the second. Must be 'cause I'm hanging out with you so much."

"Aw, I'm so wounded, boohoo on the stupid dwarf. Now tell me."

"Fine," Hawke said and sighed. "We talked about a million things, he got pretty drunk and gave me a piggy-back ride to your tent since the sun was rising quickly. The end."

Varric drew an extremely disappointed face. "That's it?!"

"I shit you not, my friend," Hawke said confidently.

"Maker's bloody testicles, you two are IDIOTS. And I worked so _hard _at that plan. And it was Satinalia, then the wilderness which you love so much, IN THE DARK, and I cleaned the road for you, and … YOU JUST TALKED? Varric sighed and buried his face in his hands. "Sweet Mother of Cheeses, why do I even try?"

"What did you expect, Varric?" Hawke asked angrily. "Mindblowing love-making under the stars in the cold hard dirt?"

"No, I wouldn't go that far, but REALLY? FOR BLIGHT'S SAKE… Andraste's ass you're making me cry, Hawke," Varric said in outrage.

"Why is this so important to you?" Hawke asked suspiciously then narrowed her eyes. "You placed a bet on us, didn't you?"

"Of course I did that, but that's not why I did it. That was just a bonus," Varric said angrily.

"Then what? Suddenly you're Princess Fairy Godmother The Pretty Little Matchmaker?" Hawke half-shouted and stretched out her hands in outrage.

"You are soooo… soooo stupid," Varric said desperately. "Hawke, I love you and you're breathtaking with the sword and the armour and the hair and your stratagems, but you're also a big fat flaming IDIOT."

"Varric?"

"Yes, Hawke?"

She drew an intentional fake sweet smile. "Did someone get their manperiod today?"

"YOU - … you- " Varric stuttered and squeezed the pint. "Talk is cheap, DOING things is better, even I know that," Varric almost shouted, then calmed down and shook his head. "Nevermind. You're a baby, you probably don't even know what goes on or into where. Why do I even bother," Varric said and sighed, then got up from the table and left to get he drinks.

Hawke widened her eyes and her expression disappeared.

_You're such a tease_

_Talk is cheap_

A pain came shooting straight in her brain as she remembered the last piece of that night she got incredibly drunk and Fenris insisted on staying at his house. The night when she grabbed his butt and he did the same and engaged in a ridiculous match for who let go first.

**THAT BLIGHTED LYING MOTHERFUCKER FULL OF GIGANTIC PIECES OF CRAP WITH TWENTY THOUSAND CHERRIES ON TOP**

* * *

><p><strong>Quickly Reversing Time, That Night, Courtyard of High Estate District<strong>

"Then let _go,_" Fenris said decisively as he approached his lips to her ear.

"Nope, not convinced," Hawke said confidently, without flinching at the warm air he breathed on her neck.

Fenris smirked and looked at her while still close ,"I consider myself an enthusiastic explorer of the challenging and the unknown. What happens if I do this?" he said and squeezed her ass even harder. She thought for a second what she wanted more – her precious pants not to rip or Fenris's gauntlet continuing its game.

She narrowed her eyes and gave him a murderous look, "You know, there's another special place where I can put my gauntlet and ain't gonna be pretty, Mr. Wild Explorer of The Unknown."

He smirked and looked down, then back up at her. "I know you wouldn't do it."

"Here's a thing you might wanna learn about me, Fenris. If you tell me I can't do something, that's exactly what I'm gonna do."

Fenris gave her a sensual grin. "Then do it, let's see you try," he said in a deep voice.

Hawke hesitated and decided to just pretend to do it so he would back away defensively. She got her free hand out and reached for his pants, but he quickly caught her with his free hand.

"Cheating are we, Fenris? You're such a tease," Hawke said mockingly.

"I just had to see if you had it in you," Fenris said and grinned at her sensually. "After all, I said I wouldn't take advantage of you."

"Well, I knew all along you didn't have it in you," Hawke said mockingly and grinned.

He gave her a piercing, determined look, took a step closer, pushed her further into the wall, placed his leg between hers and approached his lips to her ear again. "I can do this all night, Hawke. Perhaps I'll tease you until you explode. Watch you struggle and see the look of frustration on your face which do not have any doubt, I will fiercely enjoy. Perhaps I could push you even further into this wall, press even harder against you, bind your hands forcefully until you're under my command and you can't escape," he said calmly, in a deep provocative voice. He looked down to her neck as he breathed onto it, "I could kiss your neck and bite your ear as gently as I would allow myself to, explore the other challenging areas of you, do it over and over again until you beg me to take you."

Hawke listened to his overly decisive and seductive speech and stopped her breathing entirely. This she did not expect from him. Nooo, no, this she did _not _expect from _him. _She prayed to the gods that he was intoxicated too. She swallowed heavily, then said in a half-determined, seemingly unaffected voice. "Talk is cheap, Fenris."

He didn't move and narrowed his eyes. "Have I ever lied to you, Hawke?" he demanded in a determined, deep voice.

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you," Hawke said mockingly.

"Mm," he muttered with a provocative smirk. "Then let me give you a demonstration.". He quickly placed a hand on her neck and she suddenly felt his soft hair touching her face, his eyes filled with piercing ferociousness, his lips coming closer to hers, then stopping before they ever actually met. He remained like that for a good three seconds, neither of them breathing. Hawke was almost choking from the tension, as he set up and created a fire that was almost dying to be released, but then he slowly distanced his face in silence with a brutally decisive look. "Was that enough or do you need further proof?"

She let go of his butt in silence and he did the same, eyeing her in a very piercing, bone-hard way and then backed away from her. As he turned his back, she let herself breathe again, her legs trembling horrifically and her heart throbbing in her chest as if it was aggressively trying to pierce out of her body.

"Shall we go inside now?" Fenris said and turned his head only briefly without actually looking at her. "And you can sleep it off," he finished nonchalantly in a deep voice.

That gigantic teasing manipulative lying son of a bitch…

_Nothing happened_ he said. _Nobody tried anything on anybody_ he said. What a load of crap. What a gargantuan piece of gigantic fucking crap.

… KING OF FUCKING SEMANTICS

Because technically, he _was_ telling the truth. Nothing happened _and_ he didn't actually take advantage of her. He beat her at her own game so viciously bad she might as well have crawled into the darkest pit of the earth and died.

When Varric returned, he saw Hawke with an open mouth, raised eyebrows and a terribly pale face.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" Varric asked in terror.

"He teased me to the darkest bits of hell," she said in a ghostly voice, thinking out loud and not even looking at Varric.

"What?" Varric asked bewilderedly.

"He had his face just," Hawke said in a petrified state and pointed at her face, "zero inches away from mine and he," she stuttered. "He faked kissing me. He had his lips right in front of mine and-"

"What in the Void are you talking about?" Varric asked in outrage. "Hawke!" he waved at her and she didn't move her eyes at all.

Hawke pressed her eyes tight and opened her mouth again, frowning to no end and putting a hand on her forehead. "That little evil SICK SODDING MOTHERFUCKER!" she screamed and banged her fist in the table, and over The Hanged Man, you could see a flock of terrified birds springing out and away from the building as her voice echoed outside.

* * *

><p><strong>Fenris's Mansion<strong>

She rushed up the stairs to High Estate District ready to beat the hell out of him. Looking at the ivy stone columns where he played her so well that night, she stopped and exhaled heavily. She have to give him some credit; he used the best stratagem of them all - surprise the enemy with a form of attack he would never expect. She laughed softly at herself, for it was baffling how she let herself affected by this. She exhaled again and rolled her eyes, as she mockingly knocked on his door.

After a bit, the door opened and Fenris yawned heavily, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

To getting your ass kicked.

"To me," Hawke said sarcastically and grinned.

"I thought we were supposed to meet with Varric later," he said nonchalantly and rubbed his eyes.

"I have time to kill," she said and shrugged. "What's wrong with you?"

"Can you not tell?" he said grumpily and welcomed her in.

"Out of hangover tea?" she laughed.

"It didn't help," he said flatly.

"Aw, poor Fenris," she said sweetly. "Can I help with anything?"

He was stumbling while walking. "I do not want to trouble you."

"Cut it before I cut you," Hawke said firmly and he laughed in a hoarse voice.

"How are you not in the same state as I am?" he asked calmly as they arrived in his room.

"I've had a lot on my mind," she said subtly and narrowed her eyes. "And I can hold my liquor."

He laughed shortly and shook his head, "No you can't."

"Well you seem to be an expert in how I handle things," she said calmly and he raised an eyebrow. "How's your back?"

He frowned and straightened his back and it cracked like a statue. "Thank the gods you were in a dress."

"It was your idea, not mine," she said and grinned. "Want some help?"

"If it's not too much to ask," he said and smiled.

"By all means," she said courteously and gestured for him to go on the bed. "Let me help with that," she said and undid the straps at the back of his vest. He didn't say a word as she gently undid his vest and took it off entirely. He decided not to question her move and lied down.

"So, what did you think of Satinalia? Much more fun with me around, wasn't it?" she said nonchalantly as she got on top of him and started rubbing his back.

"It was quite entertaining, I have to admit," Fenris said flatly and rested his hands under his chin.

"You're not the least bit mad that I crushed you to bits in the duel in front of all those people?"

He grinned in silence, then said, "You were a worthy opponent and I lost fair and square. What's done is done."

"That's true. Feels good to have you at my mercy," she said calmly and squeezed his skin tighter. "Kind of like right now."

"That's fairly morbid," Fenris said as he frowned. "I am not at your mercy."

"That's true. It's more like justice," Hawke said and squeezed his back muscles harder.

Fenris groaned in pain and turned his head sideways. "What are you doing?"

"Just giving you a taste of your own medicine," she said calmly and immobilized him as she pressed harder on his muscles, avoiding every marking. "Don't fret, Fenris, it's not like I'm really hurting you. It's just a thorough backrub."

"Whatever it is, it's not a good one," he said angrily. He was taken aback and tried to control his blind instinct. Whatever that blind instinct was though, it seemed it was coming late to the party, because he remained there without protest.

"No?" she asked nonchalantly. "Then maybe I should switch strategies," she said calmly and started gently moving her nails across his back, avoiding every marking.

Fenris tried with all his strength not to moan and pressed his eyes. "What are you doing, Hawke?"

"Exploring a challenge," she said nonchalantly and kept moving her nails on his back. "Perhaps I could keep teasing you like this, or even lie on you, hold down your wrists, bite your ears and kiss your back, run my tongue along your spine, do it over and over again until you beg me to stop."

She remembered. If he was in a better position now, he would have laughed, but he remained silent and they had a mutual telepathic understanding that he knew what she was taking about. She grinned and got a hold of his shoulders, thrusting her nails in them and went all the way down. Fenris couldn't help it anymore, the rush and electricity on his back being too much to bear. He squeezed the sheets and moaned in a hoarse voice, then in a fit of rush tried to escape her grip. She quickly got him by the arms and pressed him down as she leaned forward and thrust her pleasuring nails in his skin again, running them along his arms. He tried to lift himself up, but she pressed him down again with force and he moaned ferociously again. She laughed softly and bent down slowly to whisper in his ear, "Who knew you could dare to tease a girl like that."

Fenris growled and breathed heavily. He felt tension all around his body and tried to stop himself from telling her to do as she desired. The heat of her on top of him and her seductive grip, her determined and bewitching voice, the sweet scent of her hair and her warm breath, it was too much. He pressed his eyes and lifted his hips quickly, unbalancing her and with all his strength grabbed her as she let her guard down. He grabbed her arms forcefully and swung her on the side as he immobilized her under him, defenceless and taken by surprise. She gasped for air and looked straight in his eyes, his dark, homicidal, provocative eyes and his strong, bare chest and rippling muscles that were almost glowing in the dim light and held her still so effectively. Fenris bent forward with cocksure, ferocious eyes. "And what if I did?" he asked in a deep, aggressive voice.

"I don't like a tease," she said firmly while narrowing her eyes at his close face that was breathing warm air on her neck. "If you have something to say or do," she said confidently and lifted her head even closer to him, "Have at it." He frowned at her words and widened his eyes, his eyebrows lifting in hesitation as he didn't answer. She grinned, "Didn't think so." Fenris loosened his grip, so Hawke raised herself up and pushed him away forcefully on the other side of the bed. He rose from his back while breathing heavily and his pants were blowing up with the rush of pleasure and fear she practically stormed onto him. He lifted his knee, resting his elbow on it as he eyed her angrily in silence. She didn't look at him, just smiled and got up from the bed with her back turned on him and left.

* * *

><p><strong>Somewhere in Time, Sunset, The Hanged Man<strong>

"I wouldn't suggest going there, Daisy," Varric said to Merrill as he was leaning on the bar.

"Is this a special occasion where we have to sit at the bar?"

"No, no, they're just going at it again."

"Going at what?" Merrill asked in confusion.

"At something that rhymes with 'girder' and 'marking'," Varric said charmingly.

"Herder and sparkling?" Merrill asked bewilderedly.

"No, Daisy. Murder and barking," Varric said firmly.

"Oh. Then let's assign today as Sitting At The Bar Day, please," Merrill said awkwardly.

"That's actually not a bad idea," Varric said while frowning.

"I've been doing that for a year now and it's been working just fine. Why do I even bother?" Isabela said in amusement.

"Why are they fighting again?" Merrill asked in confusion.

_My guess is because they're both idiots. Hawke is mad that he played her when she was drunk and he is mad, well, about anything, anytime, _Varric thought to himself with his arms crossed.

_**Before and meanwhile at the Hawke - Fenris War of 9:33 Dragon Table…**_

"Fenris, are you folding or not?" Isabela asked impatiently. "Stop brooding so much."

"Oh, I don't mind, leave him lost in his thought. It's unfamiliar territory," Hawke said sarcastically.

Fenris frowned. "And I don't mind you talking so much, as long as you don't mind me not listening."

"You just did, smarty pants. And whatever it is that's eating you right now, it must be suffering horribly."

"Alright, maybe we should calm ourselves down and contemplate something warm and nice. Repeat after me – 'I'm in a green, peaceful, sunny field –'" Varric said, but Fenris interrupted him.

"I've seen rotten dead corpses that are less offensive and repugnant than you."

"Calm, happy thoughts, elf," Varric said angrily.

"Pardon me, Fenris, but you're obviously giving the shooting homicidal look to somebody who doesn't give a damn. And since you're at that, focus on my right shoulder – it's been itching for some time now."

"I've heard a bath helps with that," Fenris said flatly.

"Woah, woah, easy with the angry comments, there's enough tension here to set fire to a whole empire," Isabela said in amazement.

"Oh, don't worry Izzy, he knows I'm just kidding around. I like Fenris. People say I have no taste, but I like Fenris," she said sarcastically and smiled.

"Why thank you," he said sarcastically.

"No need to thank me, it was my pleasure in insulting you."

"So yeah, does anyone have any serpents?" Varric muttered in annoyance.

"So, I've never actually been to the Anderfels to be a cactus expert, but I know a prick when I see one," Hawke said confidently and grinned.

"No serpents? Just me?" Varric asked awkwardly, rolling his eyes.

"Nice tan, Hawke. To what race do I owe the pleasure? Carrot?" Fenris asked sarcastically.

"You know the last time I saw something like you, I flushed it," Hawke retorted meanly.

"Now we know why some animals eat their own children," Fenris muttered grumpily.

"Ouch," Isabela said awkwardly.

"Ah, I'm nobody's fool, everything he says is with love, even those murderous glares he's giving me right now," Hawke said confidently.

"You're nobody's fool, Hawke, but don't give up hope. Maybe someone will adopt you someday," Fenris said flatly.

"Ah, men are all the same," Isabela said and rolled her eyes.

"Who told you to try them all?" Fenris asked her firmly.

"She didn't try you, so whatever she's doing, it makes some sense," Hawke said quickly.

"Too bad stupidity isn't painful. You would be dead before sunrise," Fenris said and threw a card away.

"Guys… not that I don't mind your battle of wits here, but are you sodding folding or not?" Varric interrupted calmly.

"This is no battle of wits, Varric. I would never pick a fight with an unarmed man," Hawke said and smiled.

"Stop picking on him, Hawke," Varric said. "And you too, elf."

"Why? Suddenly he's your best pal that you need to babysit?" Hawke said angrily.

"He's a great asset to our team. So are you. And I want both of you alive. Now shut up and play," Varric said and looked at his cards.

"I think you were off by two letters there," Hawke said sarcastically.

"Just like I'm off at noticing the twinkle you have in your eyes while you two go at each other," Varric said sarcastically.

"The twinkle in her eyes is just the sunlight shining between her ears," Fenris said grumpily.

"No need to feel intimidated by my intelligence, Fenris, what you lack in it you certainly make up for in revolting stupidity," Hawke said meanly and discarded a serpent.

"Poor Hawke. Nobody's giving you attention so you just have to sting and spit your venom at anyone who feels sorry for you and listens."

"And behold the King of Idiots who decided to listen to me," Hawke said while gesturing dramatically.

"I'm done, I need a drink," Varric said and got up from the table.

"Guys, either shut up and finish this game or get a room and sort your hate for each other in a more horizontal position," Isabela said decisively.

They both ignored her and kept staring meanly at each other.

"And behold the Queen of Clowns. Ferelden has been cruelly deprived of one idiot," he said sarcastically and gestured dramatically as well.

"That was mean, even for you!" Isabela said and frowned.

"Ah, Fenris, don't worry. I still adore you. You're not as bad as people say. You are much, muuuch worse."

"And there you are right beside me competing for the 'Who has more people hating them so if one had to kill them all it would turn into an apocalypse'."

"Oh, that's adorable. We're not very different, you and I, but people don't hate me, because I can be a delight whenever I want to," she said charmingly, the narrowed her eyes firmly. "This isn't it."

Fenris smirked. "I can only suspect you behave quite the opposite of how you feel for a person."

"I know, right? I can't keep my eyes off of you," Hawke said and leaned forward onto the table. "When I look into your eyes, Fenris, I see… well, I can see straight through to the back of your head."

He shook his head. "Anyone who told you to be yourself couldn't have possibly given you any worse advice."

"I'm sorry. I'd love to understand things from your point of view, Fenris, but I can't seem to get my head that far up my ass," Hawke said sarcastically as Fenris took a card from the deck.

"It certainly looks like it would have plenty of room for it," Fenris said meanly.

"Ah, you're growing on me. Kind of like a tumor," she said sarcastically.

"I can barely wait for it to destroy the last little bit of brain you still have among the gigantic cobwebs in your head." He took a card and Hawke noticed him smile shortly.

"Ah, the Knight of Roses again, if I am to guess? Or should I say Princess of Roses."

"The serpent-entwined dagger. Or better yet, the viper-entwined witch," he said nonchalantly and eyed her.

"You should change your lucky card to the Song of Sadness and Sorrow. Clearly a much better fit."

"Maybe you should just fold before I anger you too much and you set fire to the whole table."

"Right beside you as you blow up in spikes like an angry glowing porcupine."

"Seriously…," Isabela sighed. "I was winning and you…"

"Should that offend me? I'm sorry, I can't take you seriously, you wear a unicorn-looking dragon outfit _voluntarily._"

Hawke frowned and was probably out of witty one-liners. "You're mean and condescending."

"You talk while you eat and sprinkle food everywhere."

"You're living in a giant sodding mansion that's falling apart and has rats crawling in and out like it's an amusement park."

"At least I keep my clothes off the floor and make my bed every morning. I saw your room. Even the Bone Pit looks more welcoming."

"It's like I'm not even here," Isabela said grumpily and sighed, getting up and leaving their table without them noticing a thing.

"You complain about everything constantly – there's nothing in the world you can't find something negative about."

Fenris leaned forward on the table, his face a few inches from hers. "And you can't mutter one word out of that mouth of yours without it sounding like a joke."

Hawke frowned and narrowed her eyes, going closer. "You make strange noises in your sleep."

Fenris lifted his eyebrows but frowned again aggressively. "And how would you know that?"

"Varric blabs. What did you expect? To keep it a secret?" she said in amusement.

"You swing that gigantic knife you call a sword as if you were juggling oranges."

"Oh, like you're any better, Mister I-glow-in-the-dark-like-a-Satinalia-tree."

He frowned at her without backing down his face from hers. "Preposterous."

She narrowed her eyes and said firmly, "Spell preposterous."

He lifted his eyebrows shortly. "I –" he hesitated and looked down. What? It's not such a big deal, she didn't even think she knew exactly how to spell it. Couldn't he just start with the obvious p-r-e-p-

Oh.

**Oh**

He didn't _know._

Shit…

* * *

><p><strong>Somwhere in Time, Fenris's Mansion<strong>

"I got you something," Hawke said and gave him a book and a small family crest wrapped around in a ribbon.

"It's … it's a book," Fenris said stuttering. "And I take it that's my prize?"

"I see your eyesight is still working fine, old man."

"Is this some sort of joke?" he asked angrily and frowned at her murderously.

"If I intended it as a joke I would have given you a self-help book. This is the Book of Shartan."

"And how is _that _not a joke? Let's remind the former slave he can't read and give him a book about slaves to make the irony all the more repugnant."

"Calm your tits, Fenris," she said angrily and sighed. "You haven't been a slave for years. What's your excuse for not learning now?"

"It seems too late for that at my age," he said bitterly.

Hawke chuckled heavily, "What are you, seventy? That's a poor excuse."

"Oh? Is it that easy? Why don't you just sit here for a decade and teach me then," he said aggressively.

Hawke laughed. "That's exactly what I intended."

He stopped and his mouth opened in surprise, his eyebrows shortly lifted.

"Lost for words, Fenris? I'll teach you plenty soon enough," she said firmly while grinning.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to seem ungrateful… it's just," he hesitated, "You must want something in return, certainly," he said knightly.

"Have you met me at all, old man? I'm a nice person. Suck it up and say thank you."

He chuckled and pronounced every syllable mockingly, "Thank you."

"And the crest you won anyway, by losing the bet. And no, it's not like I'm giving you some symbol to wear for me like I'm some sort of master, so don't freak out. I talked it out with Varric and he let all the thieves know that people who are wearing that crest are off limits."

He swallowed heavily and nodded.

"Although it would be nice if I got a massage from you instead once in a while."

"Oh? Did you finally scare the whore elf into his own death?" he asked nonchalantly as he placed the gifts on the table.

Hawke shrugged and grinned. "Why throw money away when you can make better bargains with better looking elves."

He grinned widely and crossed his arms. "Such flattery. Don't you think I know your stratagems by now? Everything you do screams manipulation."

_And everything you did to me that night in the courtyard, what was that? Just a cheap on-the-spot followed impulse? You little manipulative handsome son of a bitch._

Hawke smiled and crossed her arms, too. "And yet you let me continue."

He smirked. "Eh, why not? I can take pleasure in watching the entertaining process of you trying to have your way with me before I break it gently to you and ruin you for other men."

"Such arrogance. You're full of it, old man."

"We may never know for sure."

_No shit._

"So, what's it gonna be first… I teach you or I touch you? Or you touch me? Your call."

He shook his head. "I don't know which is more unsettling."

"That was mean. Even for you," she said childishly and crossed her arms again.

He smirked arrogantly. "Oh, you'll live."

They spent the whole night going through that book and even got to finish the first chapter. But with a lot of effort on both Hawke and Fenris's part, for he started to become very aggressive and rejecting and she had to stay tough and remind him if he could go through sword training, he could go through twenty-something letters of the alphabet and put them to good use in time. She knew he felt very foolish and if she made even one joke about it he would get up and kick her out, so she remained calm and supportive. At one point, she noticed he grew too tired to try and she simply took over and read to him and he listened carefully, nodding in agreement, frowning or taking sips of wine.

"But the slavery we had known, the actual chains that bound us, were but a small fragment of what we felt every day. Even as some of us became free, we knew no other way and it was terrifying, freedom. We had yet to actually understand what it meant. As I see it now, freedom means you are unobstructed in living your life as you choose. Anything less is a form of slavery," Hawke read and suddenly got interrupted by Fenris.

"That's enough," he said bitterly. "Thank you, but I'm tired."

"Alright," Hawke said and closed the book. "See you tomorrow?"

"You're already going?" he asked bewilderedly.

"I thought you said you were tired," she said and raised an eyebrow.

"I still owe you something," he said knightly and gestured dramatically. "So in the words of Hildegaard Bianca Hawke – shut up and get on the bed."

She grew pale for a second and hesitated . "No. I was just kidding about that."

"Hawke, don't play with me," he demanded grumpily.

"I'm not," she said and smiled. "It's alright. I don't need massages anymore."

"So you're not to going to go to your inappropriate elf either?"

"No," she said firmly. "I'm fine, really. I think my helping you with your back magically fixed mine too. Metaphorically speaking."

Fenris shook his head and frowned. "Get on the bed."

"No," she said firmly and frowned. "I don't want to, alright?"

He lifted his eyebrows and felt foolish. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," she said and laughed softly. "It's my fault. I brought it up."

He sighed, "If I haven't made you uncomfortable, then at least stay for another glass of wine. I'm not that sleepy."

"No, I really should get going. Busy, busy day tomorrow."

"What are you doing?"

"Oh, right, I haven't told you," she said and pressed her eyes as she felt foolish. "I'm planning on a trip."

Fenris frowned, "To Sundermount?"

"Noooo thank you. No," she said and waved her hands in protest. "A trip to a land far far away / Where cigarillos are made and it rains every day," she improvised awkwardly.

He widened his eyes and lifted his eyebrows. "Antiva?"

"Jackpot," Hawke said and smiled. "You're welcome to come, of course. Unless you think it's crawling with Danarius's men."

"Seeing as how I've been spotted in the south of the Imperium, it seems less likely for them go to the north-east. But there is a chance, yes."

"Well, if you really fear for your safety, I understand. Although it seems pretty dumb to remain in the city without your guardian angel," she said charmingly as she winked at him.

He smirked, "It does indeed," he said firmly and looked at the fire, then turned back to her. "When are you going?"

"I don't know yet. Until I sort it out with Varric, see if a caravan ride is better than a boat, decide who I take with me _and _convince my mother that I'm _going _to come back," Hawke enumerated awkwardly, "Could take a while."

"Let me know when you do," Fenris said knightly. "I think I'd like to see it properly this time."

"You've been there before?"

"You could hardly call it that," he said bitterly. "I ran along the border. I certainly didn't see anything but forests, mud and fish, bah."

"Then it's settled," Hawke said and nodded. "Good night, Fenris."

"Good night, Hawke," he said firmly and watcher her as she left.

Why did she suddenly refuse him? If he had allowed her to do it quite a lot of times now and hadn't attacked her, then why would she worry?

Then it dawned on him that reading about slavery had probably made it very real for her that he was once one. The reality struck her that he was but a very dangerous, unpredictable man who refused to learn to be free. Although they saw eye to eye in a lot of things, Hawke was very different in one aspect – she didn't like to strangle herself with her own chains, or in other words, she saw what was best in everything and made use of it. She was not a coward and she didn't like to limit herself. Her attitude was probably the reason he allowed himself to let loose in her presence and feel alive, be himself. But his state was undeniable and couldn't be ignored. He was just a troubled former slave living in a borrowed mansion.

He cursed himself he allowed this to become a friendship. She probably saw right through him from the beginning. Yet again, if she did, she still wasn't backing down. She took her time with him, didn't prod him about his problems, showed him she didn't give two spitting coppers about what he was. _Kaffas, _he thought to himself as he got up and threw the bottle into the wall.

* * *

><p><strong>Evening, Dwarven Merchant's Guild<strong>

"What's he doing here?" Hawke asked a bit meanly as Varric and Fenris met with her in the market.

"Just fulfilling my life's purpose of bringing you misery," Fenris said sarcastically in a grumpy voice.

"Can we be civil?" Varric asked and frowned. "We've got a job to do. If you have barking and mocking to catch up on, do it on your own time."

"Don't worry, Varric. I've made it my life's purpose to treat the invisible the way they should be," she said sarcastically and smiled.

"What did we have to do, again?" Fenris asked nonchalantly while ignoring her.

"There's this friend of mine who works under a real pain the ass merchant. If we get to talk to him, he can land us a very good deal on a cart ride. That and I've been meaning to sell him some stuff," Varric said and rolled his eyes.

"That's your incredibly hard job?" Hawke asked mockingly and crossed her arms.

"They're Carta people," Varric said and frowned. "And the merchant in charge is a cut-throat angry son of a bitch. He won't let him associate with me anymore. So, if anything happens," Varric stretched his arms dramatically at them, "I've got two angry pain in the ass friends who will take care of trouble."

"So we just barge in his shop and hope it doesn't get ugly?" Hawke asked bewilderedly and sighed. "I knew I should have worn better armour today."

"Oh, you're fine," Varric said sweetly and looked at her black cardigan closed by a red waist girdle.

They walked by the entrance and she looked at the both of them. "Wait, how are we going to do this?"

"His shop is big, if you go and bullshit him about his merchandise, maybe throw in some compliments about his gems, me and Mr. Mad-a-lot can get our way past him and find my dear old friend."

"By gems I hope you mean actual jewellery I hope," Hawke said and crossed her arms.

"Of course, what do you take me for? A pimp?" Varric said in amusement.

"You're not far from it," she said and laughed.

"Just as a heads-up though, he likes redheads with big bosoms, so," Varric said awkwardly and coughed. "Feel free to use that to your advantage."

"Is he dangerous? I mean, if he doesn't get perfectly distracted?" Fenris asked flatly as he came next to Hawke at the entrance.

"Let's put it this way – if he so much as leaves his spot, we'll wake up gagged and tied on a boat to Rivain."

Fenris nodded in understanding and looked at Hawke who frowned at him. He quickly punched out the button of her shirt and it widened to make a cleavage. She gave him a murderous look and he gave her a smug grin as he opened the door, so she couldn't say anything.

After the whole thing was done, they got out of shop and Varric pat her on the hip. "Thank you for taking one for the team, Hawke. I owe you one."

"You owe me a naked dance on the pole, is what you owe me," Hawke said angrily and Fenris couldn't stop himself from laughing.

"Not if I can help it," Varric said in amusement and sighed in relief. "How about I buy you a drink? Or twenty?" Varric coughed. "Maybe that way the whole shirt will come off and we'll get to see what that merchant was missing."

Fenris laughed and Hawke became red with anger. "Not if I can help it."

They walked out of the Merchant's Guild and Hawke looked at Fenris, who quickly turned his head. She grinned at said, "You know you two are adorable, teaming up against me like that. At first I was a bit jealous that you became such good pals behind my back, but now I think I get it. You just set up a 'Worship Hawke' club."

"Oh, yeah. We meet every week and eat fine food off of a porcelain doll laid on the table that was made in your image," Varric said sarcastically. "Sometimes we throw darts at it too."

* * *

><p><strong>Sometime later, A year after Hawke's return<strong>

**Sunset, Hawke's Estate**

After another lovely and uncomfortable dinner with Mother, Hawke pretended to walk him out of the mansion. They sat on the bench and talked peacefully about her training. He listened carefully and snorted every time she told a story about how she made an ass out of herself on the field : the time she swung the sword and dropped it and flew into the river, the first time she wore heavy armour and fell right on the ground like a statue, the time she argued with her brother over who's the best and she accidently dropped her sword on his foot and cut off his toe… good times. Of course, he didn't speak of his training. She knew that it wasn't voluntary and it wasn't fun for him, so he changed the subject and asked her about the magic training.

"Again with that? Who's prodding inanely now?" Hawke asked in amusement.

"You don't have to tell me," he said flatly.

"Well, to be honest, it's getting rather boring. I snuck a book about magic from a friend in the Circle and I've been meaning to catch up on Spirit magic. It's one of the most difficult, but at least more interesting branches."

"Can you elaborate?"

"Well, apart from your own mana, you can draw out energy from the Fade. It's not an easy task to accomplish and the worst part is spirit damage is extremely lethal so if someone accidentally casts it in a cluster of enemies where an ally is, well, they're screwed. But I don't know… It makes me want to blow up and scream 'I hate this! Just strip me of my powers already!'"

He cupped his maxillary and looked at her, "What about Arcane magic? That is exactly what a warrior may profit from."

"And how would you know that?" she asked arrogantly.

He rolled his eyes and chuckled, "I come from the Imperium. My language alone is called Arcanum. They practically invented Arcane warriors, apart from blood magic. It's probably their one good achievement."

"It's not exactly the same thing, Fenris. And I don't think there's a book on Arcane warriors I can sneak from the Circle."

"You don't need to. As I understand, it's just a different form of force magic. Either you convert your magic into physical damage alone or you simply apply your magic onto physical objects and attacks."

"You do know your magic," she said grinning. "I feel horribly uneducated."

"It was not a piece of knowledge that I voluntarily asked for," he said flatly.

"So you're saying I should take advantage of my magic all the time in combat through this Arcane stuff?"

"Why not? It would certainly profit us a great deal."Hawke frowned and said nothing, looking down and he noticed. "You don't need to do if you don't want to. It was just a suggestion."

She smiled, "I know. It's just… I am barely getting used to using magic as a last resort as it is. I think I've got enough on my plate for now."

"Of course," he said firmly. "I understand."

"My father was like this," she said bitterly. "Though he didn't really show it. Mother used to say he didn't need to show me how much he hated being what he was, because I took right after him in a heartbeat."

Fenris looked at her with a wondering look. "May I ask how come then?"

She looked down and smiled bitterly, "Well you don't get to be the pretty mage excited about magic when you're an illegal fugitive. Freedom is not exactly a boon, in this little aspect. And apart from that, well… it just bothered me that whenever I made a sudden movement there was this small chance that I set the house on fire or choked somebody with my mind if they pissed me off as I merely looked at them. Some may find it fascinating, but I found it repelling."

"Your brother whined his whole life that he was the disadvantaged one in your household and yet it seems the anger was mutual. You were jealous of him, weren't you?"

"So jealous," Hawke said with a smile while shaking her head. "All he had to worry about was if he put the metal cap on his groin correctly or if he swung the sword without throwing it in the river. And once he came of age, he was free to go wherever he wanted to."

"Wouldn't that have applied to you as well?"

"Well, yes, sort of. He didn't leave for the same reason I didn't. Because we cared too much for each other to leave the househould. We had to stick together. But I kept telling him he was free to go, since he wasn't the one that had to run."

"He whined and made you feel guilty to mask the fact that it was his choice to stay and with that, remain in your shadow."

"And it's a good thing he doesn't have to do that anymore. He got his silent wish. He's his own man now," she said flatly and looked down.

Fenris frowned and realized something. "But you would have wanted to be in his place, if you could choose to."

She looked up at the sky and sighed. "Well… If I could choose, without being tied down to any responsibility, without family to worry about, just in a perfect form of complete selfishness, yes. I would have given myself to the cause in a heartbeat."

"That's why you said it didn't matter if the Wardens offered to recruit you or not that night, isn't it?"

"Figured that out yourself, I see," she said with a bitter smile and looked down again. "They did offer. I already knew too much about them when I barged into their outpost like that. But I couldn't do it. And Carver didn't either. So they just made sure I kept my mouth shut and never come back."

"I hope you'll keep to that promise," Fenris said and chuckled. "You survived a month to the darkspawn and half a year wondering aimlessly across Thedas. It would be quite the irony to end up getting killed by Grey Wardens."

"I'll try not to die if I can help it," she said in amusement. "But rest assured, I can't make that promise if my rescuing evading tank, well… evades."

Fenris laughed softly. "I'm not going anywhere."

She smiled and looked down. "I hope not."

"You know, it just occurred to me that in a way, you using your markings all the time makes you more of a mage that I am at the moment."

He frowned and she immediately regretted what she said.

"That just makes the irony all the sweeter," he said bitterly.

"Don't take it that way, ugh," Hawke said and rolled her eyes. "This basically means that we're just no better than one another."

"It does, indeed," he said flatly, cupping his maxillary.

"Well, time to go back in," Hawke said warmly and got up. "Wait, where are you going?"

"Home?" he asked bewilderedly.

"Oh, no, no, no. You're not getting out of your reading lesson just because my mother asked for a dinner last minute."

"You wish to do this here?" he asked, gesturing to her house.

Hawke shrugged and smiled. "I've got wine."

"Well with that compelling offer, how can I refuse," he said sarcastically.

* * *

><p><strong>Nighttime, Hawke's Estate<strong>

They were sitting on the floor with their backs against the wall in the main room, opposite to the fireplace. Hawke got a few books out of her library and they took turns in reading passages. The wine kept them going and amused, rather than frustrated and it felt quite comforting to sit like that, with glasses of wine by their feet and the fire at a distance creaking and throbbing. At one point, Fenris loosened up and removed his shoulder pads, gauntlets and chest plate and undid a few buttons of his vest. She thought about how envious of him, because she couldn't afford to do the same, even if it was so hot inside. She only removed her red waste girdle and placed it on her lap under the book.

After he took another sip of wine and placed the glass back on the floor beside his leg, Fenris played with the pages of the book and he stopped right at a page which had a separate, smaller paper stuck inside. He took it out and frowned, as he recognized the handwriting that was beautiful on the top and ended up aggressive and rushed.

"Don't read that," she said and tried to grab it out of his hand, but he quickly moved it away and farther from where she could reach.

"Why? Is it some dirty journal entry?" he asked sarcastically and gave her a smug grin.

"You wish," Hawke said mockingly and tried to reach for the paper again, unsuccessfully.

"Then what is it? A sad love story?" he asked in amusement.

"Nope," she said childishly and tried again, uuunsuccessfully. "Do you think I'm that stupid to write something that Varric would find and put in his memoirs?"

"So you do have a tragic love story," he said confidently and smiled.

"It's not really a love story, but it is tragic," she said and sighed, after she gave up trying to get the paper out of his hands.

He frowned perceptively and asked, "May I ask what happened?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," she said mockingly and shook her head.

"As you wish," he said knightly and nodded, but then grinned. "I will just proceed to read whatever secret entry you kept hidden in this book."

"Fine, read it already," she said and gestured to him to have at it. She took her glass and drank the wine nonchalantly, as he started reading.

"Who am I - I cannot say," Fenris started while stuttering with the words. "My seasons they change from day to day / Poet priest assassin thief / My magic dispels my disbelief."

"It's got magic in it, so you probably don't want to read further," she said defensively, but nonchalantly kept drinking her wine.

He gave a short, contained smile and looked at her, "And what if I do?"

"Suit yourself," she said nonchalantly.

Fenris turned his eyes back to the paper and kept reading, "Who am I – I'm just a pack of lies. I'm a tower of cards, I'm the yarn of a bard…. I'm the jest of a fool, I'm a glittering jewel… I'm just a candy coated castle in the sky."

"Told you," Hawke interrupted.

He ignored her and continued, "So tear down your lying idols and let your spirit free… Stop searching and find, stop listening and hear, stop looking and simply see... Do what thou wilt! And no other thing! Wander alone in the crown and sing... And fear not the taunts of the man and his masses, 'cause when disaster comes knocking it's us fools who'll be laughing!"

Hawke snorted and shook her head, but he kept reading, "Follow lord fortune wherever he leads and petition your angels to tend to your needs…Go crazy, go wild, get wasted, get wise…Wake up from your nightmares, stop believing their lies! Get active, get radical, get real and get magical... Aspire to the heights and embrace all your lows. Give in to desire…let the flood of lust flow."

"Scareeeh," she interrupted.

"Now the fruit of the knowledge of good and ill was but the necessary evil of a bitter pill. But the fruit of the tree of the eternal is the salve to alleviate all that is mortal …See the kiss of the cobra both kills and cures, and the only defence is a heart that's pure. It's a drug to unhinge the temples door, and the key to the kingdom where love is the law."

"Cheesy alert," Hawke interrupted him mockingly.

He grinned at her and continued, "Let reason and passion be your left and your right, no more divided than day is from night. Then unite by your art, your head and your heart, for emptiness ends when eternity starts…"

"That's actually not bad," Hawke said mockingly.

Fenris sighed and finished the last bit, "So let go, and let rip, take a ride, take a trip. Get to work, get to bed, get a life. Get a grip. Take leave of your senses, your cunning pretences. Pick up your beds and tear down your defences…And retrace the course of the spring to its source... In the time before mind, where Maker alone knows. In the garden of your heart, where the tree of life grows." His expression loosened and seemed deep in thought.

"I told you not to read it," Hawke said grumpily while looking up and taking a sip from the wine.

He frowned and put the paper back in the book. "That was –"

"Foolish," she finished his sentence quickly and smiled innocently.

He gave her a broad smile back, "Magical, if you don't mind the irony," he said flatly and looked at the fire. "And a great slap in the face to reality."

"Got any other rhymes, Pomponius Secundus?" she asked sarcastically.

He laughed quietly, so nobody would hear them, "How about – To let people in she will not allow, Her hair is red and she acts like a clown, Alas, to end this stupid rhyme, For I am no poet and we're losing time - To be a monk, she is too loud, To be a queen, she is too proud."

"Too proud to be a queen?" she asked bewilderedly. "Well, you have me there. I prefer to be a hero lurking in the shadows with my mindblowing stratagems and weakness for doing the right thing. Saving kittens and setting up orphanages for stray puppies and lost souls."

"I'm glad you didn't put me in that lot," Fenris said in amusement while he placed his head against the wall, remembering her angry speech to him on the roof a long time ago.

She frowned and rested her head against the wall too, "Of course I wouldn't do that. You're your own man – a strong, witty, insufferable, but nevertheless free and fairly law-abiding man," she said in amusement and turned her head that was resting on the wall to look at him. "Even with those chains you refuse to throw away."

At that last bit, he turned his head that was against the wall to look at her with a curiously warm, but carefully contained smile, "You see a great deal, don't you?"

She grinned shortly and looked him straight in his green eyes, "I see it, but I don't tell you. Why should I?"

She was right, she didn't need to spell it out for him, grapple and walk straight into his impenetrable wall of self-doubt and loathing. It was pointless and unnecessary. What she did instead was show him the world he was missing out on, give him a sense of security and kick him into starting to make his own decisions on whatever he desired. Even that day when she assaulted him through the mask of a back rub and told him she could tease him too if that's what he wanted, she didn't give in and told him firmly that if he wanted to say or do something, he would just have to grow some balls and do it. And that's exactly what he did.

What Hawke saw was a short turmoil boiling across his face, but the last thing she saw was his dark green eyes enveloped in some strange, distinct determination, as he dropped the book and took a hold of her face and in a harrowing second, slammed his lips into hers. And what a kiss that was! – his soft, maddening and feverish lips pressing onto hers like wildfire. Her lips got away from him and she looked at him in wonder, breathing in heavily and he could feel his heart beating like a huge Chantry bell ready to drop. His eyes questioned her telepathically, if it was a mistake, if he frightened her, if she was going to strike him. She inhaled deeply and took a hold of his neck, bringing him closer and he squeezed at her cardigan with a gentle force, then wrapped his arms around her and encaged her in his safe and strong grip. For shame, if it would end. But she kissed him back and entwined her fingers in his hair, and he accidentally bit her lip in a mechanical attempt to hold out the growling moan that was about to come out. She breathed heavily through his lips, as if what he just did was good, and opened her mouth wider, slipping her tongue and meeting his in a whirl of driven force. Whatever he was doing, it seemed to be working, for she let out a groan of pleasure and thrust the nails of her free hand in his vest and hung onto it as if it was the only pole of balance and stability that still held her together. For shame, for shame if it would end here. The heat and the pressure in their little dance, her maddeningly playful tongue and those peach-soft enchanting lips were killing him, he wanted more and more of it, and never for it to stop. To have her so close and wrapped around him, with no teasing or playing around, but just a perfectly blunt and irresistible act of showing him she didn't give one flying copper for his demons, that ravishing and continuing taste of her lips pressing onto his and closing in a powerful peck. And then it was over.


	3. A Stolen Kiss For Every Lover

Fenris looked at her in fear, as the kiss was over, silently asking her, wondering and doubting. Hawke had her arms still wrapped around his neck and his grip was still pulling at her clothes. He didn't know what to do, he was freezing and boiling at the same time; but the tornado of wonder in him didn't seem so singular, as he noticed the turmoil in her face, her confused eyes and her slow breathing. No, he didn't frighten her, that was foolish. But whatever it was, he couldn't help but brush his hand through her hair in an attempt to move it against her ear. She flinched and inhaled quickly, lifting her seemingly terrified gaze at him and searched in his eyes for something he was sure he wouldn't understand. But it didn't matter. Just a moment ago, just for a moment, he had her. And it was the most hauntingly rhapsodic and enrapturing feeling in the world. She reached for his hand that was resting on her cheek and as she inhaled again, closed her eyes and felt his warmth. His look, in a harrowing second, turned so tantalizingly sorrowful, it seemed as though she would break there in front of him and turn into dust and he would wake up.

Fenris watched her close her eyes and feel his hand on her cheek, then inhaled deeply himself and slowly came closer to her again. He would keep the glimpse of this moment forever with him; it was like a beautiful painting of a peaceful, warm being sitting with her head tilted on her right, eyes closed and feeling the comforting touch of someone who kept her safe in that gentle hold as she smiled.

He ignored all his other voices, his demons and the throb of fear in his chest – they just became a hollow beat in a harrowing deafness and even that agony of silence was wiped away and barricaded. He gently placed his lips on her forehead and he could feel her smiling under his chin. She lifted her head up and he quickly caught her silvery grin and rapturing eyes and took it as a welcome to push his lips against hers again as he dragged her closer. This time though, their lips met in a gentle press, which made the creaking and throbbing of the flames nearby clash in their ears as if they could feel the fire through the sounds. Or maybe it was her, that was the gentle little flame. As he ran his hand on the side of her neck and continued the slow kiss, she slipped her hand through his half-open vest and rested it on his heart. Was it even beating? Only she could tell. The warmth and security of her hand on his chest maddened him, it made him growl with some form of frustration for her to widen her mouth again. As if she understood, she complied with his wish and he met the familiar, bewitching feel of her tongue twirling into his, followed by the perfect dance of lips closing and opening again. And again and again, Maker let it never stop.

His ear flinched at the sound of a door opening. Hawke quickly left his lips in a rush and widened her eyes, then forcefully pulled him up with her and murderously whispered to him to get behind the giant curtain.

"Love, is that you?" Leandra's voice came from the upper floor in the deathly silence that vibrated into the two's bodies like a freezing rush. She came rested her hands on the balustrade as she came into sight and Hawke scratched the back of her head, hiding the terrifying tension in her throat. "What are you still doing up?"

"I couldn't sleep," Hawke said surprisingly calmly and danced with her eyes from her Mother to the curtain and back to her Mother again, then said in a nonchalant voice, "Thought I'd catch up on my reading."

"And on your wine," Leandra said disapprovingly as she nodded in the distance towards the glasses. "Why are there two glasses?"

Hawke widened her eyes, but controlled them with the same talent and discipline she proved in combat, "I have two hands," she said while stuttering and pressed her eyes at how ridiculous that sounded. Right, perhaps this didn't count as one of her best moments in talent and discipline…

"And a cow has four stomachs, but that doesn't mean it has to use them all at once," Leandra said in annoyance and rubbed her eyes in weariness.

"Now there's an image I won't be getting out of my head," Hawke said sarcastically, while still rushing her eyes from one curtain-covered elf to a sleepy mother in her night robes.

"Is there something on your mind, pup?" Leandra asked in concern and started climbing down the stairs.

"Nooo, nooo, nothing's on my mind," Hawke said almost half-shouting and rushed to the stairs and up at her. "I mean, yes! There is something, in fact."

Leandra stopped her decline and looked at her bewilderedly, "Well what is it, love?"

_Fuck _this. Hawke led battles more dangerous and seemingly life-threatening than this particular encounter in this particular… not at all familiar situation. This was outrageous. She got double-ambushed, tied, gagged and even imprisoned at some point, fought foes in so many overpowering numbers she couldn't even count that high and she had still managed to keep her head clear, follow her strategy and even find the time to shout directions at her companions. _This, _no, this was – She had to pull herself together.

She pretended to sigh in desperation. "I don't know what to wear for my name-day. It's so frustrating."

Leandra raised an eyebrow and Hawke swallowed heavily for she was certain that her mother wouldn't let herself fooled by something so ridiculously uncharacteristic of her to say. The following second however, she felt her inner soul sigh in relief as her mother laughed softly and caught her by the shoulder, "Did the girls place a bet on you that you wouldn't dare to wear something nice this year at least?"

"I suspect so, but that's not the point. I just don't know how to dress properly… and I want to throw on something special, at least this once. For your sake," she said calmly and looked at her.

Leandra sighed. "Well, since you've already baffled me to such an extent that you practically slapped the weariness off my face, how about we go and find you a nice outfit, shall we?" she said warmly and dragged her gently up the stairs and went for her room.

As her mother entered she quickly looked behind to see if Fenris had managed to leave. She saw strips of white hair disappearing behind the walls of the first hallway and she closed the door strongly so he would know it was safe for him to make his way out.

**Outside Hawke's Estate**

As Fenris closed the main door slowly, a tornado of thoughts kicked at his head and he had to sit down. He rushed at the bench of the giant stone columns in front of the house and sat down, allowing himself to breathe normally again.

Though the obvious questions should have darted at his head, the only thought that stirred was – _Venhedis. _She didn't tell anybody about her name-day or that she was planning on something to do about it. Was he supposed to give her a present? Was he even invited? He rolled his eyes and brushed his hair away from his forehead as he leaned back on the bench.

Foolish questions. He could laugh at himself now if he was in a better state of functioning.

He had her. He had her in his arms, he felt her hair and her warm touch. He kissed her lips.

…And now what to do. He felt like a character in an ancient comedy that was thrown back, literally, by life and the gods in the heavens were laughing at him – _There's your freedom! What are you going to do now, except look around the square, looking like a drunken smiling idiot?_

Oh he would so laugh at himself if his head wasn't blowing up with the impact she had left on him and his… everything.

* * *

><p><strong>Morning, The Hanged Man<strong>

"Heh-hey, to what do I owe the pleasure so early in the morning?" Varric asked Fenris joyfully as he came into his room. He locked the door nonchalantly while ignoring Varric's colossally raised eyebrow. "I'm in trouble, aren't I?" Varric asked fearfully and raised his palms in peace. "Look, whatever you heard, I swear I didn't do it! It was all Rivaini!"

"What in blazes are you talking about?" Fenris asked grumpily.

"Oh, uh… never mind. Just a heads-up though, there's a rumour going on that you're missing some… parts," Varric asked awkwardly while scratching his head.

"Poor pirate," Fenris said calmly while shaking his head.

"Well can you blame her? The woman doesn't know how to lose. She cheats her way through everything. I think she even cheated at cheating, if that makes any sense."

"That makes no sense," Fenris said flatly and sat at the table in front of him. "What _the hell _is it that you're eating?"

Varric cleared his throat and let out a poor Antivan accent, "Prosciutto crudo a la Bianca."

Fenris looked at him as if he was an idiot and the dwarf laughed, but he ignored him, "Did you know Hawke has a name-day?"

"Elf, even my morning shit has a name-day. Practically anything you give birth to has. Or is that too snobby a concept in Tevinter?"

"Well, for one, they don't consider _everything_ that comes out of them worthy of a name-day," Fenris said grumpily, "and second, they call it a birthday."

"But the day you were born is the day you get your name. It doesn't make sense. Why would they simply call it birth-day. Are they fascinated with the wonders of the birth canal?"

"Seems a miracle to me that some people even manage to find their way out of a birth canal," Fenris said sarcastically.

Varric chuckled, "Oh I like your grumpy humour in the morning. Really gives me a kick to start making the good jokes around here."

"Why try so much when you're a perfectly good joke just by standing here?" Fenris said sarcastically and smirked.

Varric gave him a mocking face. "Boohoo on the funny odd dwarf. I'm about to cry, Serah."

"Please don't," Fenris said flatly.

"If you try to crack a smile once in a while, I might spare you of that particular agony," Varric said sarcastically.

"Don't hold your breath," Fenris said nonchalantly.

"I won't need to. Hawke might be coming here any second," Varric said subtly and grinned. He noticed the elf flinch at the name and look behind, as if he was afraid that a ghost would swoop at his back and strangle him. "So, while we're on that, you said something about a name-day?"

"I understand it's soon," Fenris said calmly. "Didn't you know?"

"Of course I know," Varric said charmingly. "I know everything there is to know in this town. _Everything,_" he accentuated the last part with an evil grin and the elf swallowed heavily.

"And when were you planning on telling me? A month or two after it happened?"

Varric sighed. "I didn't tell you because I knew you couldn't keep a secret."

Fenris frowned angrily. "Excuse me?"

"Look," Varric said in a lower voice, as if the walls had ears – judging from all the ridiculousness he saw in his company, they might as well have had – "I had a mastermind plan cooked up to surprise her. Nobody mentioned anything to her and she didn't talk about her name-day either. I thought if I filled you in on the details, there would be a possibility that you'd just go and blab it at her and everything would be ruined."

"Are you joking?" Fenris asked angrily. "From all you crazy people, I'm the last one to fail at keeping silent."

"I know, I know," Varric said in annoyance. "But still, couldn't risk it. I was gonna tell you the day before it was supposed to happen anyway."

"Well, it is too late for that now. Start talking," Fenris said angrily.

Varric intertwined his hands on the table and started, "Ok, so here's the deal…"

After he told him everything, Fenris scowled and his mouth hung open, "You are remarkably and positively insane."

* * *

><p><strong>Sunset, Hawke's Estate<strong>

Hawke was taking Mojo on his evening walks through the town square. The dog sniffed every bush and ivy wall, thoroughly checking for any kind of foreign touch, then proceeded to happily remark his territory. The city lay under the usual curfew and the stones of Hightown seemed darker, more drab, suggestive of a fortress, the streets narrow and gloomy. The enclosed their splendour, unlike the grand fantastical stone facades of Ferelden architecture. She had walked her dog every evening through this unlawfully busy square ever since she returned, though it was quite darker now, more… as if it was enveloped in a radiance of encaging and unhinged rancour. It felt as if the walls were closing in on her and a sinister quality of restlessness hung around it. She couldn't quite put a finger on it.

An execution had taken place that day. A woman drowned her own children into the sea after her apostate husband had been killed by Templars. All her children bore the …well, curse of magic, for lack of a better word and in a fit of horrifying desperation she thought it was better that she ended their life now rather than be taken in and abused by the Templars.

Hawke had a natural distaste for such things, unlike a surprising number of nobles in Kirkwall. She edged towards the Keep where it happened, gazing upon the ground and wishing she wouldn't be so jarred by the horrible remnants of the cruelty that had taken place that afternoon. There was no corpse or gallows there, but she felt it and tried not to imagine it so much.

Her father always cautioned her back in Ferelden not to "enjoy" these spectacles, but rather to place herself mentally in the position of the victim if she was to learn the maximum from what she saw. _To be careful_. It could easily be her there one day, or she could end up at the hands of the Templars, which was much, much worse.

The crowds at executions were often merciless and unruly, taunting the victim sometimes, out of fear, she thought. Of course, in Kirkwall such things were a rarity if ever. Most of the times the prisoners would just rot in the Keep's prison or they were simply terminated in private, but this one was… particularly of interest, for the people. No doubt that this was not the Viscount's idea and in his better days, he would have never allowed it, but she suspected he had no choice under the wishes of a certain irritating figure… no other than Knight-Commander Meredith. It would be a warning for those who harboured apostates, to know that this was their destiny – they would go mad and become dangerous and cruel, just like the "abominations" they hid from the Templars. Preposterous…

It brought her comfort to know that her father was as intelligent a lad as they could get, teaching them to move swiftly, keep their unperturbed look as well as their mana deeply hidden, shifting quickly from the observation of Templars. It became a talent for them to move with such instinctive grace. She had always felt affected by the fact that her companions knew of her secret… which just magically, forgive the pun, travelled from Gamlen's mouth to Athenril, then Varric and Isabela… Anders and Merrill would have known either way and Fenris found out because she had to land that forcewave before the demons killed him. Sebastian was still unsuspecting though, even with her drunken tantrum-speech, bitching about Andrastianism. Thank the gods for that. Yes, _gods, _suck it Choirboy.

"It's as though we're invisible," little Hawke once said to Malcolm as they were passing through a foreign village where an execution had taken place along the battlements. "Because we don't really belong here and we will soon take our leave."

"Yes, but we are not invisible, remember it," her father whispered.

"But who died here today?" little Hawke asked with a sorrowful look. "People are cheering _and _weeping. Listen!"

He didn't answer. She grew uneasy. "Father?"

"A man who betrayed the kingdom under the false pretences of a reformer. He was conspiring with the Orlesians and was going to sell out his own. Or so they say. Remember Orlais, love? We gave you those old little satin shoes for your name-day," he asked sweetly, diverting her from the whole complicated explanation.

"What happened to him?" she asked sadly, ignoring his witty attempt to distract her.

Malcom sighed and looked away as they were elbowing their way through the busy crowd of the village. With all his wit, he couldn't lie to his eldest born. "He died today, hanged and then he was burned. Thank the Maker he was already dead before the flames rose."

Hawke frowned and thought on it, "You wished mercy on the betrayer?"

"I wish mercy for any man," Malcom said bitterly. He beckoned for her daughter to follow on a narrower street to make their way faster back to the abandoned house by the skirts of the village where they hid.

"Even a …" she whispered "dark mage? Surely you must not feel the same for such people."

He didn't answer. Now that Hawke remembered as she walked her dog, he probably didn't know how to answer. "They are far worse than this common betrayer, you know that!" she continued.

He had made it quite clear just how wrong the ways of dark magic were, but even so, he didn't know how to answer, present Hawke thought. He had more mercy than he wanted to admit, maybe. He couldn't answer her, but what he could do, was divert attention. "Are you going to argue with me until the end of the world!" he said a bit angrily. "I know that you think greater truths will come out from the strife between teacher and student, but I believe you need to let my lessons settle in quiet at least for the space of five little minutes in your mind before you begin your counterattack."

"Don't be so provoked, Father," she said sharply and narrowed her eyes.

"It's not the end of the world, love. We have enough time to debate this further when we find a proper home," he said delicately as they finally got out of the village.

Young Hawke smiled, but bitterly. She wanted to articulate, somehow against her father's indomitable command, a strong presentiment that they were all living in their last days, that is was the end of the world, and it was inscribed in their hearts, because they were apostates. But if she said it again, her father would only scold her for being so morbid.

As she stayed silent, her father smiled. "Ah, my little pup does listen to me," he said in an ironic voice. "Yes, I am glad that the betrayer is no more. But to rejoice at the end of something is not to approve this endless parade of human cruelty. I wish it were otherwise. Public sacrifice becomes grotesque in every respect. It dulls the senses of the populace. It makes people go to unnatural extremes that they wish they'd never be in if it were they who played the central character. They enjoy the sight of a man dying as it if was a wedding. It's just pure hypocrisy."

Hawke wanted to retort with something, more of a simple question that had to do with _hypocrisy._ Weren't those bad people just as bad as any dangerous and ill-intentioned mage? Why did they have to be imprisoned since birth, but ordinary men only met it, or the end of the dagger, once they proved their danger graphically? It was the same kind of danger and the same potential, the same result, but through different means.

Hawke had been merciless for a long time, at least when it came to blood mages. It angered her that they stained her race and every day they made it harder for people to believe in mages. But the same went with any other cruel being.

She wondered if she was fooling herself in believing she could live in this city free of fear and eternal vigilance. The past year had been… very gentle on her. Compared to the usual horrific fiascos that haunted her life in Ferelden, at least this last year had been surprisingly peaceful and seemingly uneventful. Well, except for…

"Mojo, no!" she screamed after the mabari as he started peeing on the Chantry statues. "Well… have at it. Their god made you, why not show him His own creation?" she said in amusement and waited for the dog to finish his business.

She noticed the two dark-draped shadows in the distance a while back, but she decided to ignore them. She walked back to her estate as if nothing happened and inhaled heavily before opening the door.

* * *

><p><strong>Hawke's Estate<strong>

As she came in the hallway, two fully armoured and masked Templars waited in the main room with Varric in their hands and raised their palms in command at her. "I'm sorry, Hawke," Varric shouted in despair. "I'm so sorry!"

"Where's my mother!" Hawke screamed and tried to draw out her sword. _Blasted. _She didn't take the sword with her. She looked at them with murder in her eyes and commanded aggressively, "Answer me!"

The Templars drew out their swords and shields and starting approaching her, while still dragging Varric in front as a barrier.

"NO!" she howled assaultively. "You will not," she said firmly and drew out the fire from the fireplace to barricade herself, while they flew into a tornado around her and she started only faintly levitating, "have me!"

The flames encircled her and shots of electricity darted in and out without shooting at them yet. She started making a horrible sound and the floor quaked heavily beneath them as she pointed her hand at the ground. The throbbing and horror unbalanced everything and as the Templars and Varric approached her, Fenris and Aveline came from the right corner and Anders and Merrill from the right corner. As they ran to her and shout, two wall-doors opened in front of them and a terribly hideous shade came out of each and horrified them.

Everyone screamed and howled, jumping and ready to attack, until it occurred to them that the two shades were actually spitting well-made puppets that just fell face-down on the ground. Hawke's hideous demonic screaming started lowering down as the flames faded away from her and she finished in a very morbid, "Mwa-ha-ha-hah" as she came down to the floor. She smiled at everyone and gave another ironic "…Hah."

The Templars got their helmets out, revealing Isabela and Gamlen who looked excruciatingly terrified, as did everyone else who was frowning murderously at her. She knew about their master joke plan to scare the shit out of her for her name-day and cooked an equally horrific vengeful counter-surprise.

"Maker's bloody testicles, Hawke," Varric shouted as he breathed rapidly with a hand on his heart.

"You scared the BAGINGAS out of me, you crazy bitch," Isabela screamed and quickly sat down at the table, leaving Gamlen collapsed on the floor, either from the scare or the heavy armour.

"You _all _had it coming," Hawke said confidently as she grabbed a shade-puppet up and mocked them with it.

"I told you this was a viciously stupid idea!" Aveline screamed angrily at Varric.

"I thought the Dread Wolf actually took you," Merrill said as she hyperventilated and held onto Anders' robe. "Mythal…my legs are trembling more now than when I saw my first shade."

Anders was a bit trembling, but far less than laughing and enjoying the look on everybody else's face when Hawke played them so well. No doubt he thought their surprise plan was extremely impertinent and now they got a taste of their own medicine.

"I'm sorry for whoever was _against _this little act… but still took part," Hawke said confidently and grinned to no end. "Ah, now, anyone fancy a cup of tea?" she said nonchalantly as she helped Gamlen up.

"Remind me never to get on your bad side," Varric said grumpily. "Seems to be," he grimaced and coughed as he choked, "unhealthy."

"Happy... name-day," Aveline said awkwardly.

"Nobody takes me seriously... I warned you people," Hawke said firmly, ignoring Aveline. Then she sang childishly, "Nobody takes me seriously / Nobody likes you when you're twenty-free."

"23?" Varric asked and scowled. "I thought you were 21 a year ago."

"I returned one day _before _my name-day. Suck it, I was smart."_  
><em>

"Oh, this isn't over," Varric said in annoyance.

"I need to find Leandra," Gamlen muttered while still trembling, "and tell her that I love her."

* * *

><p><strong>After everybody cooled down… <strong>

"You actually got me presents… as if this charming stunt wasn't enough?" Hawke asked in amusement.

"We considered it a form of compensation for our impertinence," Varric said sweetly and beckoned her to open them up.

"Wait," Isabela said and approached her. "You have to guess which is from who."

Hawke sighed in annoyance. "My, what a challenge. You people sure know how to make things _such_ fun," she muttered sarcastically.

She looked into each sack and caressed her maxillary as she examined the contents carefully.

" '_How to find your Glory Spot. Where no man has ever managed to reach_'. I take it the inappropriate book is from…." Hawke said perceptively while looking at the pirate. "Not you."

"Darn," Isabela scowled. "I knew that it would seem too obvious."

"Aveline?" Hawke asked confidently and the woman nodded awkwardly. "Alright, then this hideous and revolting lace dress must be from Izzy."

"It's lace," Isabela said in annoyance, then winked. "You can never go wrong with lace."

"Neither can you go wrong with a fist in your face," Hawke rhymed sarcastically while smiling. "So… hmph. The little deer painting is Merrill's."

"I thought they looked so adorable - like ugly brown and furry hallas," Merrill said and smiled.

"I guess this other book is from Anders and this incredibly ugly magic hood is from … Justice," Hawke said sarcastically as she held up the hood with two fingers as it was a dead weasel. "Way to kill my fun, mage-lover."

"It comes with the incredibly ugly mage robes too," Anders said sarcastically.

"Thanks. Come to think of it, it will go really well on my new shade scarecrow. His name is Bill after all, you gotta give him at least a more intimidating look."

"And if you draw red lipstick on it, it will be the spitting image of you," Anders retorted joyfully.

Fenris watched Hawke in silence and felt his tension rising up. He had lost hours trying to think and find a present for her, and he thought if he got her something ridiculously stupid and then at the last minute give her the real... less stupid present, she would appreciate it more. But his tension was monstrous more from the thought that they had not seen each other at all since that one night and he had positively no clue how to act.

In the meantime, Hawke grimaced mockingly at Anders and picked up the book. "Alright… the book is from Varric. '_All Things Magic: What You Never Dared To Ask'_" she sighed. "It's about me, isn't it?"

"Nope," Varric said sweetly. "It's about the _magic _adventures of an incredibly pretty apostate by the name of Jill de Bard Bibanka von Hawp. Nothing to do with you, Shade-Face."

Fenris burst into soft laughter and Hawke frowned at him. "What are you laughing at, Casper?"

"Who is… Casper?" he asked in amusement.

"If you don't know, I can't sit here for an eternity and explain," Hawke said and rolled her eyes. "Too many complex terms might make your white head blow up in a flock of a thousand little snowflakes."

"I think I liked you better when you were turning into an abomination," Fenris said sarcastically.

"It's never too late to admit it and join us in our freaks of nature club, Fenris," Hawke retorted sarcastically.

Fenris lifted his eyebrows innocently, "But then who will sit by and laugh at you while observing you in your natural habitat?"

"I'm guessing –"

Fenris interrupted her with mimicking a mouth with his hand. "See this," he gestured with the mouth-hand near his head and pressed his eyes closed. "This is just irritating noise to me, going swords-swords-swords-I-love-barking-howling-and-red-things-clown-clown-clown."

Hawke stuck her tongue out at him and then looked at the last item. "Then this leaves this uh… knob? ... to you, Fenris," she said awkwardly and raised an eyebrow.

"It's called the Magical Ball of Everyone's Fortune," he said nonchalantly and grinned in his chair.

"I'm afraid to ask but, how does it work?" she asked and rolled her eyes.

He smirked as he got up and approached her. He took the ball out of her hand and gestured, as Hawke frowned murderously at him. "You just wrap it around your head," he said and only gestured with his hand, "And then you shut up for eternity."

"…And then she ripped his head off," Varric whispered in storytelling mode.

To their surprise, Hawke burst into laughter and held onto his shoulder for balance. "Good one, but seriously, where's my real gift?"

"This is it," Fenris said flatly as he grinned.

Hawke stopped her laughing and started to frown. "Really? Then why don't you be the first to give it a test run," she said firmly and shoved the ball in his mouth.

* * *

><p><strong>A few hours and stopped counting at four bottles of liquor later…<strong>

"Another round?" Isabela asked eagerly.

"You finished the last bottle _already_?" Hawke asked drunkenly in her chair.

"Another round at Truth or Dare. And yeah, the bottle's going empty soon," Isabela said joyfully. "Boy, Kitten is waaay down," she said as she looked at a tightly sleeping Merrill curled up in an armchair. Anders left because Justice kept popping up and telling them that alcohol was bad and they shouldn't make Anders drink it anymore and Aveline left after a while as well because she had to get up in the morning for duty.

Hawke swayed her head and caught the look of Fenris who was sitting in front of her. She inhaled forcefully and asked in a sweet drunken voice, "Where's my baby?"

In his besotted state, he felt very relaxed and taken, so he was about to respond with '_here_', but thank the gods for Varric who outraced him. "Your baby's right here, Madam."

"Not you, Varric," Hawke said drunkenly. "But you're a sweetheart, … sweet-, sweet-…"

"…Varric?" the dwarf finished her sentence.

"Cheeks!" Hawke shouted and swayed her head again. "Where's my bottle?"

"Here," Fenris said in a hoarse voice and gave it to her.

"Enough! Truth or dare Hawke," Isabela said commandingly.

Hawke rolled her eyes and looked up. "Dare. No wait! You've far grotesque taste for my idea… idea for my taste. Whatever. Truth!"

"No backsies," Isabela said firmly.

"Please don't make me put on that stupid dress," Hawke cried impatiently.

"Oh, fine, I'll sex it down this time…" Isabela thought. "Now here's something I've always wondered. Find out the colour of Fen's underclothes."

Hawke looked unperturbed and turned her head to Fenris. She splashed a shot of fire at him without it actually reaching him. As he flew sideways to avoid the immediately disappearing fire, she quickly tackled him and landed on top of him. She immobilized him as he tried to get up, but then she said, "Wait, I know that one. It's 'none'."

"Woah, how would you know that?" Varric asked in suspicion.

Her head swayed and she had a drunken smile. "I grabbed his butt."

"And _he _let you? Lucky bitch," Isabela said in amazement. "Why don't you let me do that, Fen?"

"For starters, because you call me '_Fen_'," he said grumpily on the ground.

"Don't sweat it Izzy, there's nothing much to it," Hawke said and smiled, then burst into childish laughter. "Literally."

"Get – _off_," Fenris growled at Hawke.

"_Flat – _butt," she said childishly, then got off of him and sat back in her chair. "Alright, truth or dare, Varric."

"Tr- Dare," he said quickly.

"Give me the little Antivan brandy bottle you've been hiding in your jacket," she said cunningly.

Varric sighed and reached into his jacket. "Fine. But it's only because this is your special day. You're cut off from this poison of damned souls for eternity from now on."

"We'll discover that next year," she said firmly and opened the bottle.

"Elf?" Varric called, while turning his head to Fenris, who was dangling his head with dizziness as he sat back in his chair.

He brushed his forehead with his hand and inhaled wearily, "Truth."

"Do you have at least _one _really happy memory? If you do, what is it?" Varric asked cunningly.

"No doubt and precisely it was the time … Precisely …What did you ask me again?"

"Not about what time it is, precisely," Varric said sarcastically while laughing at his drunken state. "Tell me your happiest memory."

"Right, yes…" he frowned and remained lost in thought or he passed out with his eyes open. "Precisely it was the time…" He dozed off in graceful silence.

Varric chuckled like an old man at how the elf fell asleep right in the middle of his courteous sentence. "Precisely and no doubt it was the time, the time, _precisely_ it was the time…" he imitated him childishly.

"Time to make coffee," Isabela said in amusement. "That's also my gift to you, Hawke. Special delivery from my mother country."

"You mean special delivery straight from the substance traffickers right in the Docks," Hawke said while smirking.

"A simple thank you would have sufficed, love," Isabela said while grinning. "Especially since I'm the only one who knows how to prepare it," she said assertively and got up.

"I wanna see that," Varric said eagerly and got up himself. "Hawke?"

Hawke was holding her head with her eyes closed in irritation. "Ok, sit tight, soldier. The magic beans are coming." He looked at Merrill. "Rivaini, how 'bout you carry Daisy to the guest bedroom?"

As they got into the kitchen and Isabela got out the beans and smashed them thoroughly on the piece of cloth, she asked him, "What's up with those two?"

"You mean Pixie and Dixie?" Varric asked charmingly.

"Let me guess, Dixie is Hawke, because she's a dick, and in fact, _Pixie _is Fenris."

"No, that's what I named my manbreasts," Varric said in amusement.

"Did you name every hair on your chest, too?" Isabela chuckled.

"There are not enough names in the world, my good woman…"

"But really… you lost the bet. That much is clear. I'm still full proof that she's gonna get the hots for Anders once she realizes she has to accept her magic and use it to do justice because of her weakness to always do the right thing and yadda, yadda. Yet, those two are so…"

"Weird? Insufferable? Totally nuts to the bone?"

"Defensive with each other. Like one second they're good ol' friends and it seems as if there's some weird telepathy between them, the other second they're competing for who has the bigger cock."

Varric burst into laughter, "Oh I really do wonder who has the bigger one."

"Oh, please," Isabela said while grinning. "Hawke's a scary little tomboy, but she's still a lady."

"Lady?" Varric asked in amusement. "You're _drunk_ as a _nug._"

"Varric," Isabela smirked, "Let me ask you this. What makes Bianca a leady? Your Bianca, of course."

Varric cupped his maxillary and thought for a second, "Well that's easy – she's just the perfect and equal amount of part-graceful and part-bad to the bone, just for me, of course."

Isabela grinned. "Then here you have it."

Varric leaned on the table and eyed her insistently.

"Are you really wondering how coffee is made or are you sniffing up a bet again, old man?"

"A whole sovereign," Varric said charmingly. "That we'll find them both passed out in graceful, boring, non-sexual peace. I'm telling you, Hawke's not that kind of girl."

Isabela grinned, "Fine, lose your money. A whole sovereign it is – and my bet is that they're already going at each other. Dry humping,_ at least._"

"You're on, Madam," Varric said firmly.

_**Meanwhile on the upper level…**_

Hawke opened her eyes after they left, as it was more painful when she could see only pitch-black and felt even more dizzy. She got up from her chair near the balustrade and walked into her room to get some spindleweed. Whatever that '_coffee_' thing was, she didn't have the patience to sit and wait as the room spun around with her.

As she walked inside her room, a set of familiar hands got her by the shoulders and shoved her into the door. "I thought they'd never leave," he growled impatiently as he squeezed at her clothes and pushed her into the door.

"Fenri-," she tried to say but he started kissing her neck surprisingly slowly for the aggressive drunken state he was in. She inhaled deeply and looked up, biting at her lip so she wouldn't make any sounds. So…sooo many sounds. He went up and down her neck and at one point bit her so incredibly good that he put a hand over her mouth. Did he have to make things even bett- … worse… She felt him pressing against her and removed his hands from her mouth. "Fenris… they didn- _ah_," she gasped and gave a short moan as he bit her again, "_leahhve_."

"All I see is you," he said bluntly, his warm breath on her neck. He continued his maddening kisses and short bites on her ear. His hand held her so tightly at the back she almost couldn't breathe even without him teasing her to the point of screaming in pleasure.

_She had to pull herself together. _She looked away to the stairs to make sure Isabela and Varric weren't coming back yet. Her eyes were trying to go up and in the back of her head, as Fenris teased her so cruelly and effectively. _Motherff- _ he grabbed her face quickly and turned it to look at him and he slammed his lips into hers. He tightened his grip and growled in pleasure as she kissed him back. She led him away from the door so she could close it shut, then she stopped them in place. She enjoyed the roaring heat and the pleasure of his incredibly insistent tongue for three more seconds as the room spun with her, then pushed him forcefully on the bed. She sat on top of him but didn't kiss him as he thought she would. Instead she grabbed the hand that was going for her face and looked at him with a serious face, "Fenris, we have to stop."

Fenris breathed ferociously as he eyed her with a lustful aggressive look. "I don't want to," he said with an unfaltering scowl and tried to lift himself up to reach her.

She stopped him by the shoulder, "Fenris," she said aggressively. "They can come back at any minute, they didn't actually leave the estate," she sighed and pressed her eyes tight, feeling the wondrously strong hard on that was bumping at and under her pants. "I am asking you nicely to stop before I punch you unconscious. You know I'm not afraid to do it."

He leaned up on his elbows and looked at her in silence as she eyed him insistently. He growled in annoyance, nostrils flaring and heavy breathing. "As you wish."

"Thank you," she said firmly, then grinned childishly. "You might wanna wait here for a few minutes before coming back out."

* * *

><p><em><strong>A few of those minutes later…<strong>_

"I'm telling you, it was a mermaid. It had big luscious shell breasts and a long delicious little tail-"

"Shh," Varric whispered to Isabela as they went up the stairs with three goblets of coffee in their hands.

Hawke and Fenris were both dozed off in separate armchairs, in perfect, blissful sleepy delight.

"My money, Siren Pants," Varric said firmly.

"This isn't over," Isabela said in annoyance.

"Wake up, Sleepy Tough Pants you," Varric sang sweetly. "And elf."

"Mmm, coffee," Hawke said in a child-like voice. "Give," she muttered like a stoned primitive and stretched her arm out.

"Fen-Feeeeen," Isabela shouted in his ear and he opened his eyes quickly.

"Away with you, wench," he said angrily.

"I heard you the first nine times, I got the point. Coffee?" she asked while smiling.

"Oh… thank you," he said flatly.

"This shit tastes like… like…" Hawke said and scowled.

"Please don't say shit," Varric said and tensed up. "It's brown and I'm drunk."

"Paradise," Hawke finished with widened eyes.

"Wait, I didn't put your sugar in," Isabela said in annoyance.

Hawke flinched away and said in a paranoid-like voice. "No sugar, I hate sugar."

"Woah, fine, jeez," Isabela said with a raised eyebrow. "Fen?"

He didn't answer. He drank the coffee and made strange faces.

"Fenris?"

"Yes, Isabela?" he answered promptly with lifted, unimpressed eyebrows.

"Sugar?"

"No, thank you."

"You two are weird," Varric muttered grumpily. "How can you not like sugar with your drink?"

"Because it tastes like a fairy's butt," Hawke said drunkenly.

"Speaking from experience, Madam?" Varric asked sarcastically.

"Of course. I've been kissing your ass for years."

Isabela chuckled, "Truth or dare, Hawke."

"Dare!... Wait, NO! Not again. Fuck me," Hawke said in annoyance.

"I give the dare, not you, but you can hold me to that demand later," Isabela said charmingly. "Since you've been kissing Varric's ass for years now, how about you give the other end a try?"

Hawke raised an eyebrow, "You mean like – eww."

"His mouth, you dirty pervert," Isabela said ironically. "His charming storytelling lips."

Hawke stared blankly with an open mouth, as if she just realized something. "Hey, you're right. I never kissed the poor bastard."

"No need for such graphic displays of affection," Varric said awkwardly. "Bianca's gonna get jealous."

Fenris laughed softly, realizing just how misleading that could have sounded and Hawke picked right up on it. She got up and smiled "It's not technically cheating if you get it from a girl with the same name, is it? Nope, I don't think it is."

"Andraste's tits, damn you, Hawke," Varric said and scowled, trying to defend himself and sink lower into the chair, as if that would have made him disappear.

"Oh boohoo on the taken dwarf," she said in annoyance and caught his face still. "Come here you!" She gave him a powerful peck with an intended loud _Muuuah _and then shoved his face away. Varric remained stunned and pale with widened eyes and started blinking repeatedly.

"Did you slip me the tongue?!" Varric shouted in outrage.

"NO! That was the other Bianca trying to get past me," she said in amusement. "Hand on my heart!"

"You evil conniving minx of the unholy and dreaded undergods," Varric said angrily. "You-"

Then his train of frustrated insults stopped as he realized he tasted _cider _on Hawke's lips, which was what _only_ Fenris had from all of them, because he was the only one who liked the half-sweet half-sour taste of steeped apples.


	4. Morning After Pill

Varric was so terribly drunk, so sodding horrifically besotted, a butt-ugly abomination could have kissed him and he wouldn't have defended himself. In that particular tempered with train of thought, he thought about the _cider_ that only Fenris had drunk and that he felt on Hawke's lips and all he could think of was – _Sweet seventh son of a seventh son, that means _I _practically kissed that elf. Oh no… _

"Caution, fluid going back up," Varric said in terror as he felt his insides going up in a rush.

"Quick – the can next to my bed!" Hawke shouted and the dwarf immediately rushed to it. After he finished spilling his insides out, he sighed and got up. Now that the dizziness started to fade away just a little bit, he noticed the air in her room was way hotter, even though she kept the door partly open. _No…it can't be._

"Feeling better?" Hawke asked Varric sweetly as he came out.

"Much, much worse," Varric said in a horrified state.

"Well… I'll pretend I'm not _that _hurt that the first thing you do after I kiss you is to _vomit_," she said meanly and narrowed her eyes.

"Believe me, it wasn't _you_," Varric said grumpily and sank back in his armchair.

"Liar," Hawke said childishly.

"Varric, your turn, Fenris has to do you, I mean, ask you -" Isabela said eagerly and Varric flinched.

"Truth."

Fenris frowned and thought of a good question. "Have you ever frequented the services of a … hard-working woman?"

"Never," Varric said firmly. "Well, not a woman, anyway." Everyone scowled at him. "I'm a bullshitter, Andraste's ass. Gosh. What do you take me for?"

"A strange drunk, to say the least," Hawke muttered grumpily. "Isabela," she nodded in her direction in wait.

"Truth," she said and grinned.

"Is it true that you're a lying selfish bitch, beyond all that friendly demeanour?"

"Of course," Isabela said and grinned. "Just as my mother left me."

"Hm. I'm sensing a story there," Varric said perceptively.

"My round is over," Isabela said cunningly. "Next time, maybe." Then she looked at Fenris. "Well?"

Fenris scratched his head and muttered tiredly, "Fine. Dare."

"Aw, that was so easy," Isabela almost purred mischievously. "I dare you to either tell me or show me – or us – how _big _you are."

He stared at her blankly as if he didn't hear her, "What?"

"Either whip it out or measure your manhood," Varric translated bluntly.

Fenris blinked a few times in weariness. "What?"

Isabela smirked. "Maybe Hawke can tell us. Did you grab something else other than his butt?" Hawke choked and spilled her coffee and Isabela started laughing, "Are you going to _exert _your NO _muscle _on this one?"

"N to the O to the everlasting _negative_," Hawke said firmly.

"That long, huh?" Isabela said in amusement.

"No, I really can't quite put my finger on it yet," Hawke joked as she saw Fenris extremely bewildered.

"What are you two talking about?" Fenris asked insistently.

"Quick, cover Broody's ears, he's too young for this kind of stuff," Varric said sarcastically.

"Do me a favour and clarify this before I clarify your insides out in the open," Fenris muttered aggressively.

"Asking me to do this is like_ apples_ and _oranges_," Varric said purposely vaguely.

"Do me a favour Fen and tell me how biggy is the thing you make tinkle with," Isabela said childishly.

"…Tinkle?" Fenris asked in even more confusion.

"Oh he's hopeless. You were right, Varric," Isabela said and sighed.

_I'm not sure about that anymore, Rivaini,_ Varric thought.

"So… moving on?" Hawke intervened swiftly.

"I believe it's your turn to be asked or dared, name-day girl," Isabela said. "I want to do you."

"You want to _do _a lot of things," Fenris said a bit angrily out of nowhere.

"I decided I no longer want to _do_ things that depress me," Isabela retorted meanly. "And now he gets it… You were just playing dumb, weren't you?"

Varric intervened. "I want to do Hawke."

"Oh, _now _you like me? You weren't that crazy about me a moment ago," Hawke said meanly.

"My apologies for trying to make room. I thought it would be more _fruitful_," Varric said charmingly.

"Whatever. Truth," Hawke said firmly.

"Do you like _cider_? Honest truth," Varric demanded cunningly.

"I don't know," Hawke said and frowned in confusion. "I've tasted it once or twice, but I need to try more to be sure. It's kind of too sweet and sour at the same time. I don't exactly know on which of those to focus on, so it's a bit intense. Lovely, but intense."

_Might as well have replaced "cider" with "Fenris". Gotcha, Pantaloons_, Varric thought. _Also, Dear Varric, please remember this by morning. P.S. Bathe your teeth 'til January. _

"Can we stop with this ridiculous game?" Fenris asked grumpily while brushing the hair away from this forehead.

"Hawke, may politely ask if we can so very courteously smoke within the premises?" Varric asked mockingly.

"I am inclined to acquiesce to you request," Hawke retorted mockingly.

"Great googly gratitude," Varric said charmingly and got out a few too many cigarillos and some he dropped on the ground.

Hawke laughed. "Just how many are we? One, two, three, four, six –"

"That's you seeing double," Isabela said in amusement.

"This 'coffee' isn't working the wonders," Hawke said grumpily.

"It will once you also smoke," Varric said firmly. "Catch."

She didn't catch it. A minute after she found it under her armchair, she got up and said in a husky voice, "Oh, I can't wait. Once we reach Antiva, I'll get me a thousand of those."

"Once you reach _what?_" Isabela asked in outrage.

Hawke and Varric became pale and looked at each other. "Oh, right… I've been meaning to tell you."

"The day when you leave, I suspect," Isabela scowled and crossed her arms.

"No," Hawke said and coughed. "Still making arrangements. I haven't decided who I'm going to take."

"Hawke, if you don't take me with you I'll –"

"_No need_ to make a scene," Hawke said grumpily and lit her cigarillo. "The matter was not who I _should _take, but rather who _wants _to come."

"Then it's settled," Isabela said while uncrossing her arms. "Who else is on your list?"

"The handsome dwarf, right here," Varric said and raised his hand.

"And his best good-looking and taller pal," Hawke said and blew out a tornado of smoke rings.

"Well, of course you, you're organizing it," Varric said grumpily while lighting his cigarillo.

"She means me," Fenris said nonchalantly while drinking his coffee.

Varric's smoke came out without being blown from his open hanging mouth. "Well I'll be a nug's uncle."

"He can't live without me," Hawke said sarcastically. "He admitted I'm his guardian angel."

"Bullshit," Isabela said and frowned. "You did?"

"_I _said no such thing," Fenris said nonchalantly and kept drinking his coffee.

Hawke simply grinned to herself and poured the Antivan brandy in her coffee.

"Hawke, who would have thought," Isabela said eagerly.

"That's he's a lying bastard? Nope, not me," Hawke said sarcastically while pouring the brandy.

"No, I mean what you just did," Isabela said and smiled. "I take it you like your coffee just how you like your men? Strong and Ferelden."

"What in blazes are you talking about?" Hawke asked bewilderedly.

"A coffee mixed with liquor is called Ferelden Coffee. You didn't know?"

"I didn't even know Fereldens heard of coffee," Hawke said and chuckled.

"Well, was I right at least or do you prefer something more exotic?" Isabela asked cunningly.

"Isn't coffee itself already exotic?" Hawke asked nonchalantly.

"Don't dodge the question," Isabela said firmly while Fenris started to frown.

"What do you want me to say?" Hawke asked in annoyance. "Bah."

"How do you like your men?" Isabela asked again.

Hawke caressed her maxillary. "Let me make it clearer for you – I like my men how I like my dragons – strong, dangerous, hot-headed, with an aura of a grand mystique …" Isabela was going to say something but Hawke interrupted her and finished "And extinct."

Fenris started to tense up and almost choked on his coffee.

"So you like girls?" Isabela asked bewilderedly.

"I don't like anything," Hawke clarified in annoyance and then quickly deflected. "I really need to open up a window." She got up and went for the nearest one.

"She's bullshitting us," Isabela said quietly to Varric.

"You think?" Varric asked sarcastically. "What do you say, elf?"

Fenris raised an eyebrow in annoyance. "I _think _it's none of our business"

"I bet she has this secret lover," Isabela said and Fenris swallowed heavily, "Separated by the Blight, went their separate ways and now she found out where he is and _that_'s why we're going to Antiva."

Varric frowned. "That actually makes sense. It would certainly explain two years of solitude. Certainly explains why we're going so far north. Good thinking, Rivaini."

"What are you two whispering about?" Hawke asked in annoyance as she came back.

"Whorehouses in Antiva City," Isabela quickly saved it.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Sunrise…<strong>_

An hour passed as they started talking about different idiocies, but eventually Isabela had to take Varric steadily and proceed to walk together hand in hand like two drunken singing idiots back to their home.

Fenris remained outside at the main entrance where Hawke was leaning and watching the two rogues stumbling on each other's feet. He didn't know what to say, he didn't _remember _what he wanted to say… he knew it had _something _to do with an apology, but his mind was oatmeal and as he saluted her goodbye, he stumbled on his own feet and fell.

"Maker's saggy testic – _no, I don't want to throw up too._ Fenris!" Hawke shouted in concern and quickly dragged him up. He growled and his eyes were opening and slowly closing again, so she sighed and put his arm around her shoulder and carried him back into her house. "Alright, straight to bed with you." She widened her eyes and immediately regretted the way she said it, but he only muttered a husky "mhm" with his eyes still closed.

_So… put him to bed with a blood mage, with me or in Mother's empty bedroom? Well… she won't be coming home until tomorrow afternoon, but still… No, if he throws up or something, I'm the one who's screwed, not him. He's her precious little elven "son-in-law" hypothetical candidate. Ugh. _

He was heavy, probably because he had about ten pounds of liquor in his system. She dragged him to her room and tried to put him on the bed. He frowned as she sat him down and he started coughing heavily. Hawke shook her head and chuckled. She grabbed his legs and lifted them up on the bed and pushed him down to the pillow she carefully beat beforehand. _Ok, now what…no pads, no gauntlets, no chest plate… I think that's enough… Or maybe…NO. Pfff, armchair or table? Definitely armchair. _

"Hawke," Fenris's hoarse sickly voice resounded in her ear as she tried to go to the door.

"What?" she asked sleepily and turned around.

He turned on his side and had his head face-down under his arm and faintly pointed with his other weary arm for the empty side of the bed and she chuckled. "No. You keep the whole thing. You need it more than I do."

While still with his face into the pillow, he banged the mattress remarkably faintly with his fist and she lifted her eyebrows. "Well, with that tempting offer…" she said sarcastically and came by the bed.

Fenris muttered in the slowest grumpiest voice ever, doubled by the fact that his face was buried in the pillow, "My head… it's as if a carriage full of iron ore drove over me."

She lied next to him, keeping a polite distance, "Well, who told you to drink _all my_ brandy and mix it with cider," she said and chuckled.

A funny pause. Then he muttered through the pillow, "Me."

She smirked in amusement and shook her head, "Drunken idiot."

Whatever he said next through that pillow in the dead voice, it was either _I'm your idiot _or _I'm a midget. _Neither seemed… well, maybe the last one he could have probably said.

She exhaled in relief, for her name-day was finally over and to be honest… it was the most fun she had in a very, very long time. She turned her head to gaze at Fenris again, who looked positively dead in that position. He almost looked, well… hauntingly adorable. _Cut it, Hawke. Sleep it off. You won't remember this anyway. He won't either. Well, since we won't, it's not like… Oh shit, he's not breathing. _She turned him around and he opened his eyes and frowned colossally, turning his sleepy and now child-like green eyes to his right to look at the disturbing force.

"Sorry," she whispered. "Go back to sleep."

He growled and frowned in that drunken-weary haze of his. He seemed like such a child, it was baffling. She couldn't for the love of apples… _apples. Cider. Kissed Fenris. Then kissed Varric… NO. _

**Shit. Big flaming coffee-coloured shit. **

"Hawke," Fenris muttered with his eyes closed.  
>"Mm?" she muttered back quietly.<p>

"Promise me," he said and inhaled, "that if you remember any of this, you'll tell me. Not like I did a while back, when you were… when you were… and I was such a … how do you call it… _Flagitium*_."

"I promise. And I'm sure you weren't a _flagitium,_" she chuckled.

"No. A… _brutum fulmen*, vishante tan stultus berbex, quomod'me supportis vel quid in me vides sensus non habent …_" He kept muttering angry quiet things in Tevinter with his head turned away to the other side, until finally Hawke leaned towards him and placed a hand over his mouth.

(*scoundrel/dirtbag, *empty threat, *I was a such a damn stupid fool, how could you even bear with me or what do you see in me, I have no clue)

"Shhh," she whispered. "Sleepy… somnus! Somnis fututus, now!" He chuckled in a hoarse voice. "What? What did I say?"

He brushed his hair away from his forehead and smiled with his eyes closed, "You said _fucked in one's sleep._"

"Oh my."

He turned to his side, facing her and buried half his face in the pillow. "Don't worry," he half-muttered ineloquently with his eyes closed, "I will not do that to you." She chuckled and shook her head at how funny he was like that. "In your sleep."

She stopped her chuckle and turned pale. "In my sleep," he finished flatly. Jee, what a creepy and honest way to tell her he was having wet dreams about her. She was still amazed though, that he remained so polite and knightly even in his worst state. She wondered if she should ask him questions so he would answer honestly, but then she felt guilty, especially since he had to suffer a whole night of truth or dare with the overly prodding Rogue Duo.

Better sleep it off. She closed her eyes and drifted off instantly, then the pitch-black started to spin or shake with luminous colours and she felt dizzy again. _No, not the Fade…_

* * *

><p><strong>The Fade<strong>

Not again… As a mage, half the times she dreamt she was forced to be conscious through it. Which was pretty fun, hauntingly exciting, over the hill elating as a child only newly introduced to this concept. But as so many years passed, it was tiresome _and _frustrating. Because even as she was lucid, she wasn't fully in control of her body or mind. At least not for a good half of any dream. There was of course the times she was very conscious and she would walk around and whistle until something came up, but then there was the radiance and reflection of the physical world's recent emotional prints … refracting into the Fade, where she was. That meant that she could dream over and over again the same event that had occurred into the house. She would sometimes dream of her mother as a young woman, she even saw her and her father once as he climbed on her window to see her. But most of it she didn't remember, because those were other people's memories and one needed a certain amount of time, practice and discipline to keep focus and remember it. And she had no real interest in such things.

Her own memories, however, were another matter… She could easily live those memories over and over again, not exactly in the same manner, since the Fade was distorted just as emotions, impressions and memories were tempered with, but nevertheless, the thing she was dreaming now was quite clear in its central subject…

Fenris shoving her into the door, kissing her neck and teasing her to the cruelest most unrelenting corners of hell. She was aware of it being a dream, but it didn't make things any easier and she lost herself.

"Fenris I – _ah_," she gasped shortly, "they come at any minute."

He growled impatiently and turned her away from the door to slam it shut. "Let them come," he said firmly and brought her lips to his in a harrowing second. She let herself encaged in his firm grip and thrust her fingers in his hair, as he walked her backwards to the bed. She sat down as he bent forward to kiss her further, placing his knee on the edge of the bed and making her lie down. Oh, the dreaded sodding gods of the tumultuous underworld, she couldn't stop it. The feeling of his strong physique overshadowing her and the way he kissed her, it was like an enrapturing whirlwind, a dance of friendly forces, for lack of a better word, for it was no competition. Every powerful kiss, every opening and closing he exerted with grace, enjoying every bit of it, making every move count. She thrust her nails in his back and held him firmly, as he moved his maddening evil moves on her neck. From where he knew that she liked being bitten, only those damned conniving undergods knew. He bit her so well, just enough not to leave a bad mark and just long enough for her to lose the wide reserve of her control and moan, at the sound of which he would grin ferociously to no end. Maddening, just maddening. Yes, that was exactly it…

Hawke caught his face and stopped him, making him look at her. "You're drunk," she said firmly.

"And the sky is blue and the grass is green," he said ironically with a low voice.

"Which means we should stop," Hawke said assertively, all the while brushing his soft white hair.

He frowned again, just like he did in reality, and said in an aggressive, almost childish manner, "I don't want to."

She sighed and lifted her back up and rested on her elbows, "You have to fight this feeling."

He growled. "This feeling? You mean the feeling I've been having for a good two years now? That my brain is going on vacation when you're around and when you're not all I can think about is you?"

"That's just lust," Hawke said defensively. "Alcohol doesn't help diminish it."

He shook his head bitterly and got off of her. "Kaffas," he cursed aggressively and sat on the edge of the bed. He turned his head behind. "You think I can't tell the difference? There is a fine line between that and what _I _feel," he said and turned his head forwards again, gazing at the door. "Do I want to take you here and do it over and over again? I do," he said, then turned his head behind to look at her. "But that's not the central feeling that's killing me every time I see you, Hawke."

She rose from her elbows and sat next to him. "What are you saying?"

He sighed and looked down. "I am _saying, _that I want you with me all the time. You could just sit here," he gestured towards her, "and speak nonsense for hours and I would be content just to listen to you," he said in a calmer tone, then smirked bitterly. "You could bark at me and call me names, insult me, spit your venom at me and I still wouldn't mind, as long as you're there."

"So you like my voice? I rather enjoy it myself," Hawke deflected in amusement.

He gave her a murderous look and took her by the hand. "I want you with me," he said firmly and searched her eyes insistently. "Do you understand?"

Hawke swallowed hard and looked into his determined green eyes. "I understand."

Fenris sighed and let her hand go, brushing the silvery hair away from his forehead. "I apologize. I did not want to force you into anything. It's just-"

"You didn't force me into anything, Fenris. I complied, remember?" she said in amusement.

"That you did," Fenris said calmly and gave her a bitter smile. "Although it is possible that you did it for different reasons than my own."

Hawke smiled warmly and shook her head. "What do you take me for? Isabela?"

Fenris didn't look at her, instead staring blankly or eyeing the door angrily. "Certainly not. But I don't know what you want."

"Then stop overthinking it," Hawke said and smiled.

"I let my reason go and act on instinct, you stop me. I calm down and speak about it, you stop me from that too," he said in amusement and turned his eyes to her with a smirk. "You're impossible."

"I don't know what was in your head when you chose me," Hawke said while shaking her head and chuckling. "You certainly have some death-wish."

"On the contrary," he said calmly. "With you, it feels like a life-wish."

"I'm not the one to grant you freedom," she said defensively. "You have to find it within yourself. Don't take me for some exciting get-away."

Fenris laughed bitterly. "I don't." He inhaled deeply and looked at her. "You don't need this kind of trouble."

"You'd be surprised," she said bitterly. "But that's not importa-."

"What's important is that I enjoy your presence," he said in his usual calm-but-angry tone, then looked at her, "more than you know," he said and contained his smile. "You didn't see that one coming, did you?"

Hawke rolled her eyes, "I'm not blind. But I'm also not … intrusive."

"I know," he said firmly. "I do highly appreciate that."

"I don't want to - … I don't know how to say this," Hawke said while struggling to find her words. She sighed and looked down. "I'm an abstinent troubled mage with a very… bad past. Let's leave it at that."

"And I'm a troubled former slave and the only memory I have to show for begins with the agony of receiving this, this filth," he said bitterly while gesturing at his arms. "And the horrible times which followed," he said and looked up. "If I'm not the one to understand, nobody can."

"You've never told me that," Hawke said and widened her eyes.

It dawned on her that ever since she decided to train her powers more thoroughly, perhaps her connection to the Fade became stronger, which meant not only that she lived the memory more effectively, but the emotional winds in the dream could have also caught on Fenris's genuine psyche and shoved it in her face clearly. In part, it could have been Fenris himself who was talking to her, although she wouldn't stick her hand in the flame about that idea.

He looked at her firmly, "I wanted to tell you. A few days ago, but then …" he sighed and pressed his eyes, "My problems are not yours."

She looked at him quietly and he pressed his lips before continuing, "Unless you want them to be. As unwise as that may sound," he said with a raised eyebrow and then looked away. "I certainly had a tough time admitting it to myself."

"I want them to be," she said quickly, then looked away, "But I don't want _my_ problems to be yours."

Fenris smiled calmly, "That seems unfair."

"Cautious and cowardly begin with the same letter," she said subtly with a bitter smile.

He sighed and seemed like a struggling child, "As you wish."

"No, see? Stop saying that," Hawke said in annoyance. "It makes me feel like I'm your master or something. Please tell me you don't see me as a twisted reflection of that."

Fenris didn't answer. He remained lost in thought and shook his head briefly, "I did not overlook that aspect. I've been compliant for a long time before I realized I wanted out. You would be horrified if you saw the way I was back then."

"You didn't really answer my question," she said perceptively.

Fenris scowled at her wit, sighed and took her hand. He played with her small fingers as she watched him in silence. "Maybe," he said and paused, as he noticed the remnants of the sword slash which she got from grabbing the other end of his weapon recklessly. He touched the scar gently and shook his head. "Maybe if you were friendly, helpful and annoyingly nice, maybe also if you weren't a mage, I would have felt some pleasurable illusion of compliance to your cause. But most of what you did in the beginning was to bark at me, kick me to make my own decisions and you didn't prod me about my problems," he said and squeezed her hand gently. "In other words, no, I don't think I'm engaging in an unhealthy delusion of following you like I'm your slave."

"But wouldn't you feel like a slave precisely because I'm a mage, I was the leader of our group and I was mean to you?" she asked bewilderedly.

"No," he said firmly. "You were mean, but you listened to me. You took into account my point of view, welcomed it and you involved me in making decisions sometimes. Your snarky behavior was just a defense." He smirked at her. "Am I wrong?"

"We're not talking about me here," she deflected. "Continue."

He sighed and smiled, playing with her hand. "All I am saying is that you give people the freedom to choose what they enjoy." He titled his head and lifted his eyebrows as if he was laughing at himself. "And I enjoy following you."

She frowned and he corrected himself while chuckling, "As a friend. Not an employee, not a servant, nor a slave."

She sighed in relief, but started becoming lucid again. "Good, although you can't know for sure." _You're still _partly_ just a figment of my imagination._

"Of course," he said and smirked. "What I am certain of however," he said as he scooted closer to her and put her hand on his chest, while squeezing it, "Is that I want to be here. For you, with you, without you, however it may be. I want to have the certainty that you are somewhere and continuing," he said firmly, then looked at her with a raised eyebrow, as if he thought himself a fool. "Does that make sense?"

"Yes," Hawke chuckled. "It means you care."

"I find these verbs of affection fairly vague," he said and kissed her hand slowly. "Naming a feeling is more misleading than describing it."

"Describe away and I'll define," she said in amusement. "That's what I'm here for."

"You would have an easier time defining them by my actions," he said and chuckled. "How would you define this?" He simply kissed her cheek.

"Hm," she said in amusement. "I need further proof." He kissed her other cheek knightly. "You… like a full cheek with skin."

Fenris chuckled and took a hold of her face, "Let me make it clearer for you." He slammed his lips into hers with more control than before and she could feel the rebellious courtesy with which he operated – he initiated things, stealing kisses like that, but didn't take her as if she was his thing to play with. At least not when he was a full on horny drunk. She wrapped her arms around him and responded with a powerful kiss, in-between starting to pant from the pleasure. He pressed her against him and bit her lip, this time not by accident. And that's all it took... she entwined her tongue in his and it felt like setting ice on fire, that much was clear. They felt that drive again and it occurred to her that in a way, they were far beyond driven. They opened a door with no way of return when they first kissed.

She finished with a long and fiery peck. "I conclude that you want to do this for quite a long time," she said childishly with her arms still around his neck.

"You're not far wrong," he said in amusement. He placed his chin on her shoulder and embraced her tightly. She sighed bitterly, but enjoyed every second of that firm hug.

"I was afraid of that," she said bitterly while brushing her fingers at the back of his vest and feeling his soft hair on her cheek. "Not that I needed my mother to say this, but, you're a good man, Fenris."

She heard him from the back and felt an arrogant smirk, "I know. And it's a nuisance. Just like you."

Hawke moved her head away from his shoulder and looked at him, "You signed your funeral, old man."

"I know," he said and gave her a broad smile. "What do we do now?"

"Now I wake up," Hawke said bitterly and kissed him again tenderly. "And I'll have to face you again."

Fenris's physique started to fade away like it was shattered to dust by the wind and the luminous nuances in the room began to melt turbulently, enveloping her in the painful whirlwind of the subconscious tempest full of slashes and swirling colours, characteristic to the Fade.

* * *

><p><strong>Late afternoon, Hawke's Room<strong>

"My head…" she whispered out loud without realizing. The light… OH, the fucking LIGHT. It blinded her eyes and pinned painful, exquisitely… gruesomely painful shots in her head. Never, _never_ drink brandy again. That much was clear. Although, something else became clearer as she opened her eyes...

She was buried in Fenris's chest, with a hand wrapped around his back and a leg so impertinently and lazily climbed on top of his. As soon as she realized his head was resting and tilted on hers and his overgrown hair was suffocating her face, she couldn't for the love of this newly discovered coffee not sneeze the hell out of it.

"Benefaris," he muttered while still sleeping. _Thanks, I guess… Oh, yes, thank you for not waking up, what am I thinking. _She blinked repeatedly and tried to think of a good way to get out. As she tried to duck her head out and get her hand away from his back, he started to growl in annoyance and ended up landing with his head on her chest and holding her tightly.

Great… Now what. She was amazed that him, an extremely vigilant elf whose ears flinched like a mabari at even the faintest sound or movement, didn't wake up. Not only did he not wake up, but he moved even closer and "suffocated" her with his grip, as if it was natural, as if they were married for ten years and slept in the same bed. She could laugh at this sight for months if she was in a better state of functioning. And at him. But now, the situation was particularly _tight._

"Fenris," she said intentionally louder. "Yo, Fenris." No answer. Maker's balls he slept like the dead. "Look, apples," she said and pressed her eyes at how ridiculous that sounded. She would regret what she was going to say next, but his grip was too strong for her to get out, almost as if he was actually dead and in a state of rigor mortis. "Hunters."

"Where," he asked firmly and opened his eyes. "Ah…" He covered his eyes and frowned in pain from the light.

"Sorry. There was literally no other phrase that would wake you up," she said with guilt.

"You could try slapping me like a normal person," he muttered grumpily in a fiercely hoarse voice.

"I don't want a hand in my chest," she said in amusement. "Well, through," she corrected herself.

"As if I'd have the strength for that," he muttered with his arm still over his eyes.

"As if I would think that far ahead," she said grumpily and smiled.

Fenris groaned in annoyance and uncovered his eyes, then his face suddenly grew stiff and pale. He became aware of his position, his surroundings and his defenses were probably coming back. He looked to his left and his right, meeting her awkwardly smiling face. "How did I end up here?"

"Don't you remember how you pleaded and begged to take you to my bed?" she lied mischievously.

"What?" he asked flatly, masking the tension and terror in his tone.

"Yeah, you cried that you couldn't sleep alone in that mansion of yours and I took you in. We got down to naughty business, but then you fell asleep right in the middle of the act," she continued with her playful story.

"I did _what_?" he asked and widened his eyes, rising from the bed.

She laughed childishly, "I'm kidding. You fell on the ground when you tried to leave and I carried you back. Merrill's sleeping in the other room and Mother's bedroom is off limits, so… here you are."

"I- oh…" he said and scratched his head, feeling very foolish and terrified. "I am…," he stuttered and looked like he was about to give a speech to a thousand people, "You are generous."

"Yes, I'm a hive of honey and mellow," she said sarcastically and rose up too. "How's your head?"

"It's just… not," he muttered in annoyance and looked at her with wondering eyes, as if he realized something. "Forgive me, Hawke."

"Forgive you for sleeping here or forgive you for being an impulsive horny drunk?" she asked in amusement.

His face grew even stiffer and his eyes were filled with shame and guilt, "Yes, I remember. For both."

"You kinda feel stupid now that you have nothing to compensate with right? Magic Ball of Everyone's Fortune," she said sarcastically.

Fenris rubbed his eyes and pointed at the fireplace, "Look down to your right."

Hawke frowned in confusion and looked to her right and saw an extremely furry purple rug beside the fireplace.

"You?" she asked in surprise. "I didn't even notice it."

"You said you've never dared to wear purple, let alone admit you love it," he said grumpily. "So I concluded stepping on it is more appropriate, and ironic."

She chuckled, "Good thinking. Oh… _really _good thinking. You gave me a shitty gift first so I'd like the real one better."

"I'm full of surprises and wonders alike," Fenris said ironically.

"Yeah you are," Hawke laughed. "Don't worry. You're forgiven."

He gave her a crooked innocent smile, "Am I?"

"With those puppy eyes, how can I say no?" she said sarcastically. He probably thanked her in his mind that she was sarcastic. "I gotta see if Merrill's up. Don't go anywhere."

"Why?" he asked in suspicion.

"I mean, don't leave my house. Coffee, breakfast, stuff like that. Mother won't let you anyway."

He widened his eyes and got up from the bed immediately, as he realized that her Mother could be home and come in any minute. She laughed at his awkwardness, "Oh, you're adorable."

"I'm not _adorable_," he said grumpily. "Now, tense, foolish, horrified. Those I am."

"That's exactly what makes you adorable," she laughed and was about to open the door. He stopped her firmly. "Oh relax, she's probably not even home."

She opened the door and stepped carefully, checking the premises. There was a small table-like object with food and tea on it. "Ok, she _might_ be home."

Fenris swallowed heavily and went back in the room, gathering his things. "What's your rush sailor?"

"This was unworthy of me," he said firmly.

"Wait," Hawke said in annoyance and stopped him by the arm. "Mother can't be home. She was supposed to go with that drunken Orlesian countess to the country side. She probably just came back from Gamlen's to change and left me a late breakfast since she knew I'd be in no state to function."

He pressed his lips. "Are you certain of this?"

"Yes, now stop fidgeting. You're giving my hangover an extreme case of paranoia I don't even need. And _don't _apologize again or I will fireball your ass."

Fenris chuckled, "Fair enough."

After they saw that Merrill was gone and they sat at the table _and_ after Hawke repeatedly told him to eat whatever and how much he wanted, he kept staying silent and looking ashamed.

"You're starting to depress me, Fenris," Hawke said in amusement. "Change your face."

"I left my spare faces at home," he said sarcastically.

"Well don't forget to bring them next time," she said firmly and drank her tea.

Fenris swallowed heavily and remained quiet. He thought he would find some relief the next time he saw her and things would become clearer. But that night didn't help at all and if anything, it made things even worse and more confusing. A million questions were darting at his head, but he couldn't find the courage to ask any of them.

"Oh, by the way, you can start packing," Hawke said calmly. "We're leaving in three days."

Fenris frowned. "How long are we going to stay there? And where are we going exactly?"

"We're going from here to Starkhaven, cross the Minanter River, then go west for Ansburg and keep going until we reach Rialto and Antiva City. So let's see, it will take about two weeks to get there and maybe a week to stay in the capital. So you do the math."

"Is this simply a pleasure trip or do you have something in mind?"

"I need to find someone," she said vaguely. "An old friend, let's leave at that."

_Kaffas_, maybe those drunken idiots were right. Maybe she did have some old flame that she lost in the Blight and only recently found out that they were stationed in Antiva. Maybe that's why she didn't want to talk about what happened between them. Then again, why would she bring him along? Because it was dangerous and it would be useful for him too, to get out of Kirkwall for a while, of course. He starting to brood his eyes out and decided to it was time to leave before he exploded.

"I will see you in three days then," he said flatly and got up. "Thank you for everything, Hawke."

She caught up on his behavior, but didn't have the courage to make him stay or ask why they wouldn't see each other in those three days. She thought it was best for her too to have a break before being stuck in the same carriage and premises for a month. Good thing she was such a smooth one in these situations, she thought sarcastically.

"My pleasure," she said warmly. "We leave at 5 in the morning. Do you want me to come get you or –"

"I will come by your mansion beforehand and we can go from there," he interrupted her and nodded knightly.

"Alright," she said and got up from her chair. How do you say goodbye in these situations… "Have a good one!" she said and immediately wanted to hit herself.

"You too," he responded flatly and she watched him leave.

Damn.


	5. Not Ready To Face The Tiger

**Hello again, goodbye again! Enjoy! Review!**

* * *

><p><strong>2 days before departure for Antiva<strong>

**Afternoon, Hawke's Estate**

Hawke couldn't function. Her mind was mechanically going backwards and forwards through the span of recent events and she couldn't bear it. So she did what any reasonable abstinent warrior mage woman would do. She did anything else _but. _

She tried writing in her journal about some philosophical rant, but that quickly shifted her thoughts to Fenris, because he had become her dignified partner in dabbling through the absolute. She tried to train for a brief time with her sword, but that reminded her of a certain elven warrior who criticized her moves and every time she made a move she would stop suddenly because she could hear his deep but mellow voice saying 'Not like that…'. She tried reading a book she had not bought herself that was stuffed between her own in the library, called "Leather to Feather: Crossroads of Form". It was apparently about some nonsense of how a writer is inspired by other writers and give form to what others before him already shaped and some other hogwash. But it didn't work. Feathers, reading and writing was what stuck in her mind. It reminded her of Fenris. Then she tried painting, even though she swore she wouldn't paint until she got better tools from Antiva, but just as she tried to use three remaining colours in her toolset and draw a stupid tree, she started being enraged again. She only had white, black and green. It reminded her of Fenris.

She would not go out.

Lastly she tried to draw a bath and just sink in her frustration. She heated the water as much as she could so she would be in absolute pain when she entered. When that didn't work, she started singing in the bathtub, but quickly grew tired as she didn't seem to remember any song properly.

In a fit of blind rage, she felt like giving up, and then the door opened.

"Andraste's great flaming ass, who the hell are you?!" she screamed in panic as a young happy dwarf looked at her with a funny smile, seemingly unaffected by the sight of a naked woman in a bathtub and clearly in a lack of comprehension of the impropriety of his action.

"Not enchantment," the young dwarf said with a smile. And with that she recognized him right away. He was the odd, enchanter young boy of Bodhan, the merchant with a death-wish that accompanied her in the Deep Roads. He had a strange name like Boot or Shoelace or…

Sandal.

"I- ..what- .. GET OUT OF HERE!" she screamed in outrage.

Bodahn came in a rush and saw Sandal at the door. "There you are, I've been looking everywhere for you. Two minutes I look away and you're off to the Anderfels."

Hawke was getting up as the man came and he didn't seem to notice her at first. Then all hell broke loose.

"Oh my!" Bodahn shouted and quickly covered Sandal's eyes. "I'm so sorry, messere! I- Oh!" and then covered his eyes as well.

"Good," Hawke said in annoyance and rolled her eyes. "Now there are two blind lunatics standing in my way out."

Bodahn gave a nudge to Sandal and dragged him out of the bathroom, both with covered eyes still and they almost stumbled into each other and fell backwards.

She came out with a robe on and gave them a fiercely homicidal look. "State your business, Sir Dwarf."

"I- we-…" Bodahn stuttered courteously. "Your mother summoned my boy and me to handle her business and look after the estate during your future travel."

"She did wha- oh... And where is my dear sweet mother?" she asked sarcastically, since she wished her burning alive right now.

"In her room, messere. I – My honest apologies again for this outrageous discourtesy! You've seen my boy, he's a bit of a brave of wanderer, he is…Thank you saving him so long ago and I'm filled with honest joy that you've managed to find your way out of the Deep Roads, messere," Bodahn said in one harrowing breath.

"Can your boy do enchantments now?" Hawke asked cunningly.

"Y- yes, of course, anytime, anywhere. He's a miracle worker, my boy Sandal is," Bodahn said with an eager smile.

"Then I'll take that as an apology. Not free of charge of course, I will be paying you," Hawke said firmly. She tried not to burst into laughter. "You can uncover your eyes now, by the way."

_Thank you for this distraction, as crazy and outrageous as it may be._

* * *

><p><strong>Afternoon, Fenris's Mansion<strong>

Fenris gazed upon the emptiness of his mansion, where red mushrooms were starting to grow impertinently fast and to such an extent that it felt more like a sickly and deathly little garden than a home.

Home… If this was his home, it was – it was good, but it didn't –

He walked in the hallway and looked at the painting that had fallen on the ground when she came in with him one very long night, a very long time ago now. It was a tragic depiction of people sinful people bathing in a lake of fire, on the island of some very smart demon which lured them to his cage, perhaps. Above that grotesque scenery, a different world stood. One of a white sky of ever falling snow and green, fruitful fields below the mountains, little houses scattered all over the wild place and two children were jumping or playing on a hill.

This was no Tevinter painter, of course. None would dare to depict to such a graphic extent the real horror of the underworld, the actual bargain that magisters made to augment their powers. It was too much a weakness to shape this reality outright, with the blunt truth.

But even so, it was a style that drew emotion so vividly well, both kindness, happiness, freedom _and _the deadly sins that were down below. The encasement of lost souls, crying and screaming in their silence while they burned in the lake of fire.

You could see the painting in two ways now : either that life was an illusion, and it was all the more easy to fall into hell when you let your guard down or simply when that perfect little scenery far above is not enough for you, that you need to dabble into the unknown until you break and get eaten by the tiger… Or in another way: blood, chains and suffering, an illusion of a lake of fire that you would not get out of because it was simply the only world you knew, with the happy, beautiful one hiding right above your head, that you didn't want to reach. You wouldn't even look up and see it was there. You couldn't – because you were trapped into a cage of your own doing, keeping your head and eyes down, like you were unworthy.

Such a thought, a place of hope, a promise of redemption great enough perhaps to welcome even him, who counted murders among his sins as numerous as any blood mage he so viciously despised.

Oh, indeed, this was very sweet, the picture of life beforehand or hereafter, depending how you looked upon it. The horrors of the natural world laid off upon a wise, but absent god, and the demons' folly rendered with such keen intelligence… because they prayed on the living, their hopes and their doubts, their harrowing desires and endless need of gratification.

He remembered Hawke's brave statement about him – that he was an innocent and one of the things that made him so was that he was absent of the need for illusions. But wasn't he living illusions right now? One of them was somehow, of course, his endless need to keep his head low and bathe in his own misery, while waiting… and getting frustrated of the delay of the hunters finding him. At the same time, he found relief in that delay, as well as perhaps needing this illusion that Hawke gave him – that he could be free, that he could speak and do, whatever he wanted to. It was part of the reason he hadn't left the city, even if it would have been so easy for him to do it. Now… and for a long time, he had to admit, it wasn't so easy… to just leave and be done with this place, in the same way he had done it so effortlessly before.

He was struggling with the awful fear in himself that he must, at the climax of his tale, disappoint himself and her, alike. They were dwelling into something they did not understand and the train of consequences that would follow… inevitable. And he had a strong presentiment that they weren't to be the good kind. Two things were awfully simple : One was that he saw the negative in everything. Two, - … two was that she made him feel whole, hopeful, liberated of his negativity… he struggled with the word, he hated those words…Happy.

Would that if it were true, would that all the poems and paintings in the world were but a mirror of such hopeful splendour?

It saddened him; it might have broken him down, the thought that one day, this fantasy life would be over once again. Although to be reasonable, she didn't expect anything from him. She was simple in her intents, either you do or you don't, either you're good or you're bad. If you weren't half as bad then maybe you will not be half as dead. _You have few preconceptions, even with me,_ he said to her. _In fact you astound me that you admit to such extraordinary simplicity. _

Her voice resounded in his head, _You and I are alike in this, we did not grow expecting much from others and the burden of conscience was private, terrible though it might be. _

That it was… terrible. And she didn't deny that even with her bravery and impulsivity, even with the extraordinary reserve of energy that she had in finding the good in everything, she was still broken and haunted by her past and her actions. Yet that didn't slow her so much in doing things, as he did.

_But I could ask you and you could ask me. It shouldn't be this hard, _he remembered her say. Such simple clarity. _We can find out together, _she said. He pressed his eyes shut and walked away from the painting.

A single incident from his tale - one which to him had been a passing encounter, though he desired it to be a recurring one - loomed large for him beyond all the rest and locked itself in his thoughts. He couldn't get it out of his little head. He could not banish it for the love of h-… from his mind. That in a moment of complete honesty, he took his heart in his teeth and did exactly what he wanted – he kissed her, he had her there and she responded with the same amount of willingness and warmth he had never felt or seen before in two people, as if he was gazing from afar, his soul watched as they did it and knew from an instant how effortlessly simple and fitting it was.

Ah, such fancy, this madness, such fancy. He had not expected to be so hurt by anything in his tale. He had not expected this to make a burning in his chest, a tightness in his throat from which no words could escape. He couldn't ask her anything of her after that. Not even a lousy 'Could you pass me the pepper?' as he ate with her the morning after he name-day. He ate everything without so much as a condiment and kept his mouth shut.

But as he was drunk and he saw her go into her room, it felt so simple and found himself rising from his armchair and taking her into his arms with impatience. He couldn't believe his own earnestness, his own wild desperation as he went for her. He just wanted her and her alone, to be, to continue, to live. And if he could allow himself a bit of happiness and she welcomed his greedy desire to storm into her life and ruin it, in that moment, he accepted with no brooding thoughts.

But these thoughts were foolish and vain. His whole tale was foolish and vain, and yet he turned around and gazed at the painting again with different eyes and he wanted that hope and that freedom to choose.

Then he forced himself to look up at the crack in the ceiling, where the light was flooding the dark floor of the mansion.

His head swam. There was a war inside of him.

* * *

><p><strong>1 day before departure for Antiva<strong>

**Afternoon, The Hanged Man**

The last two days were so sodding strange, Varric couldn't help even for the shame of it, not to begin _brooding_. Neither Hawke, nor Fenris came to the Hanged Man as their daily routine taught them – come for tea in the morning or at noon, go and cause trouble somewhere, then come back at sunset for drinks and Wicked Grace. But nobody came even to check if he was still alive.

"Andraste's granny-panties, Varric, what's happened to you?" Isabela's voice disturbed his train of thought as she came in his room.

"What?" he simply asked, amazed at himself that he had no witty one-liner to give her.

"Either you're having a stroke or you're brooding," Isabela said with a half-sad face as she sat down. "Please tell me it's a stroke."

"Sorry to disappoint, Rivaini, but it appears I am indeed following in our angsty Tevinter friend's brooding footsteps," Varric said grumpily, playing with his dwarven pocket watch.

"Well, you're wasting _time_," Isabela said in annoyance. "What's on your mind anyway? Thinking of forgiving Bartrand?"

"Andraste's dimpled buttcheks, no! I'll put on a dress and dip myself in hot lava before I forgive that nug humping bastard."

"Then what is it?"

"Have you noticed something weird lately?"

Isabela rolled her eyes, "You'll have to be more specific. Everything with us is always so weird it's normal."

"Last few days, not necessarily weird, but _different_, mind you."

"The Hanged Man seems pretty empty now. There's no Hawke to set ruthless fire to the place or Broody to ice it up nicely and make us feel like we're in South Ferelden during the winter."

"Exactly," Varric said grumpily, intertwining his fingers.

"You think he didn't actually leave the place that morning and they locked themselves in that mansion and going at it day and night without a break?" Isabela asked in amusement. "I wouldn't go that far, even if they both have the… appropriate reserves for it as warriors."

"What did we each bet last time? I keep forgetting. We switched teams so much over the last year," Varric said with tired eyes.

"I _think _I bet that they were in the dry humping zone and you bet that they're dwelling in boring, sexless platonic camaraderie."

Varric frowned and pressed his eyes, "Right." He sighed. "I'm probably losing."

Isabela grinned. "Why are you so beaten up about it? Seems you're so concerned about Hawke's happiness at one second, then the next you're placing bets on them not doing anything. You're sending mixed signals,… kind of like how they're doing with each other."

"I don't know what I want," Varric said angrily like a child.

Isabela chuckled. "That's probably what they said."

"You're not helping , Rivaini," Varric said grumpily.

"Look. You clearly love Hawke. Let her do… whatever or whomever she wants to, let…," Isabela looked up and smiled. "Let her go!"

"I _have _to know," Varric said compulsively.

"Of course… you always have to know," Isabela said in an ironic voice. "Well, instead of moping here like a little bitch, how about we do something about it?"

"Such as?" Varric asked.

Isabela grinned. "For starters, go and see what they're doing. Seems reasonable enough a plan, no?"

Varric shook his head tiredly.

"What?" Isabela asked as she got up. "You're starting to depress me, Varric."

"I know. I'm shitting my pants at how I'm behaving. I kinda look like a little bitch, don't I?"

"Would it make you happier if we place a bet again?" Isabela asked in amusement.

"Sure."

"I bet that we'll find them, at either of their houses, having mindblowing hate-sex since last night because Hawke's too intense and persistent and Broody's too stubborn to just let go and," she chuckled, "release."

"Fine," Varric said grumpily. "I bet they're both in their separate homes doing nothing. Seems exactly the case every time."

"You're on, old man."

* * *

><p><strong>Late afternoon, Hawke's Estate<strong>

"So… he can do it anytime anywhere?" Isabela asked awkwardly.

"Yes, he's a genius, a miracle worker. I'm so excited, I'm thinking of trying to make him enchant a chair just to see what happens!" Hawke said eagerly with a big smile on her face as she played with Sandal's runes.

"Chair enchantment!" Sandal shouted eagerly.

"Right after you're done with putting that speed rune to my gauntlets, yes?"

Sandal turned sad and scratched his head. "Oh… no gauntlet… enchanted sword with speed rune."

"Ah, it's fine. The more attack speed I have the less I need gauntlets, right?" Hawke said with an excited smile.

"Right, well… anything else happening these days?" Varric asked awkwardly.

"Nope," Hawke said childishly. "Just a lot of dwarves coming to my house. Your friend from the Carta came by a few hours ago to tell me everything's up and ready for tomorrow."

"Oh, good," Varric said flatly. "Joy of joys, well… we're gonna go pack then. See you at 5."

"Later perpetrator," Hawke said childishly and waved at them without even looking, being much too immersed in Sandal's work.

* * *

><p><strong>Outside Hawke's Estate<strong>

"You look disappointed," Isabela said as she gave Varric the money.

"I'm angry … and disappointed," Varric said with amazement at himself.

"Well, I guess there's no point in going to see Broody now."

"I have to go take care of some business, Rivaini," Varric said. "Meet up later for Wicked Grace?

"If you don't come back by sunset, I'm going to be extremely busy with my head between Nora's legs."

"Right. Have at that. Too much info, even for me."

* * *

><p><strong>Fenris's Mansion<strong>

"Hello, Ciderboy," Varric said charmingly with a perfect mask of nonchalance.

"You wish something of me?" Fenris asked flatly with an unimpressed look.

"Just wondering what you've been doing in this empty house all by yourself. Am I disturbing something?" Varric said sweetly.

"Isn't it obvious? You're disturbing my dance routine," Fenris said sarcastically.

"Oh, don't stop on account of me. It's like I'm not even here," Varric said with a grin, leaning against the wall.

"So, just like usual," Fenris said grumpily and went back to his sword training.

Varric watched him slash and duck at shadows, as if the whole moves in his repertoire were totally changed. He exerted every move with grace, mind you, but in combat he had an aura of complete calmness which served him very well. At the moment however, there was supressed, calm rage with which he swung his sword. He suddenly felt uneasy, looking at him.

"So… angry at shadows much?" Varric asked awkwardly.

"Shadows take any face I want them to have," Fenris said flatly and slashed the air again with raging grace. "It is much easier to focus with precision this way."

"You know you really ought to take that offer elf," Varric said with concern.

Fenris ignored him and whirlwound with a scarry growl, then said in a nonchalant voice,"I don't need employment."

Varric frowned, "But it wouldn't kill you to make some friends in this town. Soon it's gonna be three years in this place and you're practically a ghost."

Fenris slashed the air with precision and ducked down as if a shadow was going at his throat. As he rose up he said in a flat, determined tone, "I prefer it that way."

Varric scratched his head and took a few seconds to let it sink in. He was right, it was better this way. The least he could do though, is come by his mansion once in a while and remind him there were some people who gave a damn about him. For all his flaws and problems, Fenris clung to a sense of honour Varric tried to as well, and it was more than enough for him. He almost got the shivers through his back, thinking how terrible it must be to be lost in the world, with nobody to love or damn you. And it was worse if you didn't have the courage to take a breath, look around and see that there were in fact people who welcomed him in their busy lives. Even if it was just him and Hawke, and maybe Aveline who really gave a damn about him, it was the same for each one of them. They didn't have really good friends that cared besides those one or two people. Their other companions were driven and set on their own selfish goals and made no space for them in their lives, not _really. _They conversed and worked together, Isabela, Anders, Merrill, but they weren't really involved in each other's lives. Perhaps keeping low was the best way to see who your real friends were.

"Healthy attitude there," Varric said patiently. "Forget I said anything."

"Already forgotten," Fenris said flatly without looking at him and keeping to his battle with the shadows.

Varric felt disappointed. He didn't know why, but he was. Grateful now that he had a revelation about who his friends were and that the elf was indeed, a true friend, but disappointed of everything else. He wasn't experienced in emotional exchanges of thoughts, serious business or anything of the sort. He was a man, after all. The most he could do is make a joke, and there were _so _many jokes about cider and apples going through his head, which didn't seem appropriate or funny anymore, now that he had that train of realizations. But he couldn't help but ask at least one simple question, "Have you seen Hawke these days?"

"No," Fenris said flatly without looking at him. "She wasn't with you?"

"Nope," Varric said sweetly and leaned forward away from the wall, since his back was getting stiff. "She's disappeared off the face of the earth."

Fenris flinched and stopped his sword at the sound of that sentence. Varric noticed and quickly corrected himself, "I mean she hasn't come to the Hanged Man. She didn't flee the city or anything, she's at her home."

"Then why the great concern?" Fenris asked nonchalantly, resuming his sword training.

"Just seemed weird that the same time she disappears you do, too," Varric said cunningly. "Thought something happened."

"Why would I have something to do with it?" Fenris asked nonchalantly. "There is nothing to us."

"I'm not implying there is, apart from maybe another barking war of 9:33 Dragon gone wrong perhaps," Varric said and chuckled. "Just found it curious, that's all. A funny coincidence."

"That's exactly what it is," Fenris muttered grumpily, whirldwinding again. "Fortunate coincidence."

"Well, just checking if you're alive and well. I need you strong and focused in about well, 12 hours."

"I'm alive," Fenris said flatly, swinging his sword forward as if he severed a being in half. "I will see you in twelve hours."

"Alright," Varric said and smiled. "I get your drift. I'll leave you to your ghost fight."

As he walked out of his room, Varric looked behind and watched the last glimpses of the whitehaired elf still exerting his moves with angry, silent grace. Much better than a dance routine, indeed, just not as cheerful. He started to feel a tightness in his throat, as if he suddenly caught some empathetic disease and he felt the elf's mysterious pain or realized just how shitty his life was before and unfortunately now, too, since he had no clue how to function in a free world, but still waiting to be hunted. Bah, he needed a drink. Or twenty.

* * *

><p><strong>4:30 in the morning, Hawke's Estate<strong>

"MOTHER WHERE DID YOU PUT MY CHESTPLATE?" Hawke screamed impatiently, running from room to room.

"Which one?" Leandra shouted from the other room.

"WHICH ONE, as if I have A THOUSAND. The one with the Griffon on it," Hawke shouted from afar, almost tumbling over Mojo, who was extremely disoriented and following his caretaker from room to room.

"It's near the fireplace, where you last put it, love," Leandra shouted back.

"You're absolutely POSITIVE that it's not in the laundry this time?" Hawke screamed.

"Remarkably positive, love!" Leandra said as she walked out of her room and stumbled into a crazed Hawke. "Did you pack enough underwear?"

Hawke stopped her rush. "I don't know."

Leandra smiled. "I got you new colourful ones from the market yesterday."

Hawke frowned at her. "Having rainbows in my pants is usually my first concern when ripping the insides out of a band of thugs on the green, lovely grass and under the blue, blue sky."

"I'll just put them in your pack, go get your stupid chestplate," Leandra said while shaking her head.

"Way ahead of you," Hawke said impatiently. She grabbed the underwear from her hands and hopped on the balustrade of the stairs, sliding down with ease.

As she put them in her pack and looked at the fireplace to search for the chestplate, she glanced for a second at the hallway by the main entrance and saw a whiteheaded figure staying on the bench. It didn't sink in at first as she resumed her rushed pace, but then her bell finally lit and she looked behind again.

"Fenris, you're here already," Hawke said in a bit of awkwardness, stumbling over the chestplate, which landed on her foot. "AH, motherfffff-"

Fenris got up and remained in the door way, "I said I would come early to escort you."

"Fenris! Just the man I've been looking for," Leandra said as she finished going down the stairs. "I have something for you."

"You do?" Hawke asked in confusion, and dropped her chestplate on her foot again. "AH FUCKING MOTHERFUCKER OF A THOUSAND FUCKS. Sorry Mother."

Leandra ignored her and came to Fenris, who looked positively austere and frightened.

"You look pale, what happened to you? Did you get a chance to eat?" Leandra asked in concern.

Fenris looked in different directions as he said, "No, I'm quite alright though, thank you."

Leandra sighed, "You are so frustrating sometimes. How can you not eat? Come in the kitchen right now."

"Don't listen to her," Hawke said quickly. "I can't get into my battle pants because of her."

"Well who told you to eat all the pudding?" Leandra asked and crossed her arms. "I simply put it there."

"You're evil and conniving, Mother. And you make the pudding so hauntingly delicious, who can say no to that? Away with you, wraith of the underworld!" Hawke said sarcastically.

Leandra raised an eyebrow, looking unimpressed. "Anyway… come with me, Fenris."

Hawke rolled her eyes and kept packing, as Fenris followed Leandra to the kitchen. What did she have to give him anyway?

When they came back, she heard Fenris chuckle with Leandra over something. She pressed her lips in annoyance and ignored them.

"Are you done, love?" Leandra asked warmly.

"Quite finished, yes," Hawke said grumpily and turned around to look at them. "I guess this is goodbye." She walked over to her mother to give her a short hug.

"For now," Leandra pressed. "Don't make me worry again for nothing."

"You've got Sandal to keep you distracted once he figures out he can reach the chandelier."

"Maker's breath, don't even," Leandra said as she finished hugging her daughter. She saw Fenris watching curiously, then knightly looked away. "There's one for you, too, don't worry."

She came by him and Fenris swallowed heavily, as Leandra wrapped her arms around him and encaged him in a motherly hug. Hawke looked in amusement at how terrified he looked, not knowing quite what to do with his hands. He finally got the idea that he should place them on Leandra's back. "Don't get reckless out there, alright?"

"I will not," Fenris said knightly.

"I think she means don't let _me _get reckless," Hawke said nonchalantly as she put her pack on.

"That too," Leandra said warmly. "Maker knows Stubborn should have been your middle name."

Fenris chuckled. "I will make sure she's safe."

"Stubborn would have sounded lovely," Hawke said nonchalantly. "Much, much lovelier than," she cleared her throat and said in a mocking tone, "Bianca."

"Take care you two," Leandra said. "Be safe and for Maker's sake _eat_ on the road."

"If he leaves me anything," Hawke said in amusement. "Sure, I'll try and really not get into my pants anymore."

"It's called meat," Leandra said in amusement. "You are what you eat."

"Goodbye, Mother. Take care and make sure Sandal doesn't set the house on fire. Bye bye Sandal, Bodhan."

"Goodbye and good luck on your travels, Serah Hawke and Serah Fenris," Bodhan said and took a bow. "Say goodbye to the lady and the gentleman, Sandal."

"Bye bye," Sandal said sweetly.

As they got to the first hallway, Fenris gave a short snort and seemed as if he was trying not to say something.

"What are you choking up about, Braveheart?" Hawke asked sarcastically.

"Fatty," Fenris said meanly.

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "I have a nice ass, look," She turned and mocked him. "Can you say the same about yourself?"

Fenris tried to ignore his impulse to either grab it or kick it, and chuckled, "It is quite nice. But you're still a big fatty."

"Piss off," Hawke said in annoyance.

* * *

><p><strong>4:45 in the morning, Kirkwall City Gates<strong>

Once they arrived and saw nobody and nothing waiting for them, Hawke let go of her pack, dropped her sword and sat on a rock. Fenris cursed in his mind that they either arrived early or the others were being late and looked in different directions, keeping his aura of nonchalance.

"Dwarven clocks… great precision," Hawke said sarcastically.

"Or dwarves themselves," Fenris said grumpily. "Did he ever arrive on time for something?"

"He didn't need to," she said while thinking about it. "We always went to him."

"Maybe we should change that," he said as he sat on a different rock at a reasonable, yet not grand distance from her.

"You know the Hero of Ferelden was in a great rush," she started calmly, "She managed to move her ass through all of Ferelden, going back and forth from one place to another, fighting other people's battles so they'd join her cause, preparing for the Landsmeet, fighting darkspawn on the way, she even let herself arrested for saving Loghain's daughter from being imprisoned. She managed to convince the nobles to fight for her cause, put her fellow Grey Warden on the throne and she still had the stamina and time to fight the Archdemon AND have the courtesy of not dying to it. All in like what? A year or so? Blights last decades and she did it in a year," she said with great pride on her face. "And here we are," she gestured, "going for a lousy trip to Antiva and it feels like we won't get there for years with our lousy companions."

"You really have an obsession with her," Fenris said perceptively. "It's either that or you have a questionable thing for elves," he said with a grin, but quickly regretted it.

Hawke smirked and caressed her maxillary. "I have a thing for people who get things done. Who do the right thing, who are brave and who don't mope around and wait for others to their dirty work in blissful ignorance."

Fenris rolled his eyes, "You could just be so yourself, instead of worshipping others who do," he said grumpily and gestured. "It certainly wouldn't hurt to try."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hawke said with a scowl. She didn't pick up on his subtly, but simply took it as an insult. "Somebody's being particularly mean today."

Fenris pressed his lips and looked away. "Nothing, don't mind me. I must have woken up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."

"So you're done calling me fat too?" Hawke deflected gracefully.

"Not a chance," Fenris said with a smirk.

"I thought as much," she said grumpily. "What did Mother give you?"

Fenris grinned and got up from the rock. "That's none of your business."

Hawke lifted her eyebrows. "Excuse me?" she scowled, "Somehow you get to gang up on me with all the people I love."

"Don't be so paranoid," Fenris said nonchalantly.

"I'm being realistic," Hawke pressed. "Or should I remind you what you lovely crazy people thought would be _funny _for my name-day."

"I did not think it would be funny," he retorted flatly.

"Well you certainly didn't oppose the ones who did," she said and chuckled.

Fenris laughed softly. "I did. I told them you would be enraged or at least fight back in an instant and kill them all by accident. But Varric pressed." He crossed his arms and looked away. "He said it was," he lifted his hand up from his crossed arms, "the _ultimate punishment_."

"Well, he got _his_ ultimate punishment," Hawke said grumpily. "Oh the look on his face. I thought he was going to pee himself."

Fenris shook his head while still looking away, "You- you- … bah," he said and squeezed his crossed arms and kept shaking his head with a grumpy look.

"What? I what?" Hawke said while raised an eyebrow and leaning forward on the rock. "Come on, say it. I'm a what?"

He uncrossed his arms and looked at her angrily. "You scared the hell out of me."

Hawke laughed in delight, "Have you _seen _an abomination? They are u-gly. I'd rather be taken by the Templars."

"That does sound… reassuring," Fenris said flatly and looked away in hopes Varric and Isabela would come already. "If appearances is what you put such stock in."

"Of course," Hawke said ironically. "Look at me, I'm the ultimate diva. I would never mix blue with brown or yellow with green." She grabbed her throat mockingly. "You'll have to tie and gag me first."

Fenris felt his anger rising up from her jokes, even if they weren't directed at him. He wanted an answer for his frustration and she kept deflecting. But he couldn't assault her now, even if it was the best and probably only opportunity before taking off.

He pressed his lips in annoyance and changed the subject. "So tell me, how come you decided not to take the abomination with us? You seemed to press on the matter that he should come."

"I decided he wasn't fit for the cause," Hawke said calmly. "So I changed my mind."

"Oh? You changed your mind?" Fenris asked with a raised eyebrow and crossed his arms. "Does this one work any better?"

"Ha. Ha. Ha. Did you have a tough time thinking up that line? Must have been a long and lonely journey, that one thought."

Fenris grinned. "That's funny, Ms. Jesterpants. Did you also hear that one joke they don't tell to idiots?"

"No?" Hawke said in confusion.

Fenris smiled "Exactly."

"Good morning, ladies," Isabela said mockingly as she came with Varric from some bush behind.

Hawke looked behind in terror. "Please tell me this isn't what this looks like."

"If by that you mean it doesn't look like we just took a piss in the forest back to back, then no, this isn't what it looks like," Varric said sarcastically.

"Maker preserve us," Hawke said mockingly and shook her head.

"I heard bitching all the way from my bed, Hawke," Isabela said charmingly. "Did your mensies sync or something?"

"No, he was just telling me how much he loved me," Hawke said sarcastically. "Continue," she gestured to Fenris with an arrogant smirk.

"Right, yes," he said and coughed. "I can't put my feelings for you into words. I'd better show you."

Hawke widened her eyes, but he quickly gestured to the sky. "Count the stars, Hawke."

"It's kind of morning already, dumbass."

Fenris smirked. "Indeed."

"If I throw a stick, will you go away?" Hawke retorted meanly.

"OKAY, slow down, I'm getting dizzy and we're not even in the carriage yet," Varric intervened.

"Oh, this will be fun," Isabela laughed.

"Now again, what did my mother give you?" she repeated insistently.

Fenris chuckled. "That is classified information."

"You know I won't let this go, right?" she grinned, "I _will_ find out somehow."

"I know." He gave her an evil grin and crossed his arms. "And I'm going to enjoy every bit of it."

"_So _fun," Varric said sarcastically while shaking his head.

"Dory!" Hawke shouted all of a sudden. "He-he-hey, I thought, however ironically, that you'd turn out to be the one riding us."

_That elf. _

"That's what I do on vacation. When I'm not riding fat greasy nobles, I get to ride beautiful women who can kill me in my sleep," the black-haired handsome elf said with a grin as he approached the group. "And stop calling me Dory."

"I'll stop if you tell me you're not the only one who's going to drive this carriage," Hawke said impatiently.

"Of course not," Dorian said happily. "Amadeo's on his way."

"Who?" Varric asked in confusion.

"Amadeo?" the elf said. "He's my Antivan … co-pilot, let's say."

"I know that guy," Isabela said with lifted eyebrows. "He used to work with Martin. Seriously cut-throat elf, that one."

"_Another_ elf?" Fenris asked grumpily.

"Someone's being an ironic racist today," Dorian retorted in annoyance. "Don't worry, love, I'll pretend you're short and skinny because you're suffering from a horrible disease like the Black Death or the plague or … well, that certainly fits your murderous look, uh - Hawke, how have you been?"

"Don't mind him, Dory," Hawke said in amusement. "He's just not the frolicking type."

"If he's not the type to murder me in my sleep because I looked at him the wrong way, I'm good," the elf said with a grin.

Varric chuckled. "Don't worry, elf, if you piss him off his method of killing you is much less gory and much more… fistful."

Dorian shook his head. "I'm a whore and I still don't want to know what that means."

"Somebody order a long and boring ride to my mother country?" a very deep and cut-throat Antivan voice came from behind. Presumably Amadeo, a red-headed long-haired elf who was surprisingly hunky as Fenris, but his face was very pale and sculpture-like. His eyes were long and sharp, his nose was small and his lips were thin and rosy. Across his face, he had a long cut, which seemed an old scar. Yes, cut-throat was a very fitting term. He looked more nonchalant and dangerous than Fenris, or at least in a very different way. The kind that leaves you to rot in camp one day or sells you to the underworld raiders.

"Amadeo, I presume," Hawke said firmly and nodded.

"Correct, but call me Armand. I no longer hold my Antivan heritage dear to me," the elf said flatly and shook her hand firmly.

"So you decided one day to rinse yourself in flower and stop looking so Antivan, right?" Hawke said sarcastically.

"I do not joke, Serah," Armand said flatly.

"I don't either," Hawke said sarcastically. "Forgive me, sir, I'm a seriously misunderstood creature."

Armand narrowed his eyes. "You are Hawke. Yes, I see it now."

"You do?" Hawke asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Hair of blood, face of a child and a short mouth. I look forward to see you swing that big knife of yours in battle. There are some wild tales going on about you in every corner of Kirkwall."

Hawke frowned at Varric and he cleared his throat. "Most of them aren't true, Serah."

If he knew she was a mage, he was dead.

"So she does not have two sets of genitals in her pants?" Armand asked bluntly in that cut-throat voice of his.

"Oh, that one is true," Fenris intervened flatly. "But you may not want to bring it up, she feels very self-conscious about it."

"So that explains why you don't have an ass, Fenris," Hawke scowled at him. "I destroyed it with my monster cock."

Isabela burst into laughter along with Varric and the whore elf, but the two grumpy twins didn't seem to find it so funny.

"_So _fun," Isabela said in amusement. "I can't wait to get on the road."

"Those two are going to be best friends by the end of the day," Varric said in amusement about Fenris and the new flat-toned elf.

Everyone laughed, except for the grumpy twins again, but Hawke caught Fenris's wondering eye on her and he could have sworn she gave him a warm look, the one he only saw after he kissed her. This was going to be a long trip…


	6. The Bitch And The Little Bitch

What a sunny afternoon… The Vimmark Mountains were just the best. The draught, the heat, the endless shrubbery and rocky scenery. Even if Antiva was hotter than the Free Marches, at least it rained almost every day. Even in her years in Kirkwall, Hawke wasn't used to such heat and her face would turn into a carrot under too much exposure to the sun. Fortunately, the carriage was covered.

So there they sat, Armand and Dorian in the driver's seat, Armand staying silent and grumpy, minding his own business and Dorian but being prodded every minute by Isabela, talking about the Blooming Rose's finest clientele, Varric and Fenris playing some weird guessing game and Hawke being bored to bits and fanning herself with a book.

"So how come you're going to Antiva, Dory?" Hawke shouted from inside the cart.

"Classified information, my dear firebird," the elf shouted back.

Seems like all the elves present were keeping classified information away from her today.

"Have you ever been to Antiva before?" the cut-throat elf surprisingly said his first words in hours.

"No," Hawke shouted back. "It's all virgin territory for me."

"You're not a virgin, though, are you, Hawke?" Dorian shouted back and Hawke reddened furiously, since everybody was now looking at her.

"That's classified information, dollface," Hawke retorted, using his own weapon against him.

"It's only a matter of time before we find out," Isabela said with a grin. "The truth is beautiful and it likes to come out."

"That works for universal truths, not for my own private business," Hawke said defensively.

"Seems with both sets of genitals you don't really have any private business," the Antivan cut-throat elf said.

"Well wouldn't you like to know," Hawke said in annoyance.

"I don't," the Antivan retorted flatly.

"Then we're on the same page," Hawke said angrily. "What are you two whispering about?" she asked Varric and Fenris with a homicidal look.

"Classified information," Varric said sweetly. "Seems like a reasonable and recurring theme today."

"You don't say," Hawke answered grumpily.

"So how come you're going to Antiva if you said you gave up your heritage?" Isabela prodded Armand.

"Let me guess, it's classified information," Hawke said grumpily.

"This no secret," the Antivan said sharply. "I have a friend who needs help. I'm going to help him."

"That's remarkably vague," Hawke said calmly.

"Is there a point to know more?" the Antivan asked grumpily.

"I should know more about you, yes," Hawke pressed. "After all we're going to be stuck with each other for a while."

"Yes and it was a remarkable coincidence. I needed to go to Antiva, you were in need of a ride," Armand said flatly. "I am not your servant and this is not a joy ride. There is no point to it."

"You're hasty with your preconceptions, sir," Hawke said in annoyance. "But I'm not going to prod you if you say there's no purpose in it."

"Well I find a purpose in it," Isabela said. "Speak, Amadeo."

"My name is Armand, not Amadeo," the Antivan said sharply. "Nature gave you ears for a reason. Use them wisely before opening your mouth."

"I'm more effective with my mouth than my ears, sue me," Isabela said angrily. "Now speak."

"And yet again, I refuse. What now?" the Antivan said acerbically.

"I'll just have to get it out of you through other methods," Isabela said cunningly. "Like later in my tent."

"Do not bother, woman," the elf said nonchalantly. "You are nothing if not abhorrent."

"Ouch," Varric said awkwardly.

"Straight to the point," Isabela grinned. "I like that in a man."

"Prodding and cocky," Armand said sardonically. "I do not like that in a woman."

"You should be more like me, Izzy," Hawke said with a smile. "Keep to your business and read something interesting. Like this," she gave her a book called "War and Peace" by a Fereldan scholar.

"That's more boring than our Antivan friend here," Isabela sighed in desperation.

"There's nothing like the feeling of staying by the fireplace with a copy of War and Peace," Hawke said cockily. "You know a big fat book like that will feed a fire for two hours."

Everyone chuckled at her joke and she caught Fenris's warm smile for a second before he completely cut it out. She sighed and looked away, thinking just how difficult this trip would be if she had to sit just a few inches away from him for two weeks.

* * *

><p><strong>Nighttime, First Camp<strong>

Somewhere east of Wildervale near a great forrest, in a giant and ghostly meadow, they stopped and set camp. It seemed as though Hawke and Armand were the leaders of this group, discussing the guarding hours and the cooking and assigning the posts. Armand went with Dorian, though this dynamic duo seemed extremely strange, for the Antivan was an austere and mean piece of work and the whore was particularly charming, talkative and cocksure. Perhaps it was just out of familiarity. Varric was paired with Fenris and that left Hawke and Isabela to stay watch when their turn came.

Sitting by the fire, most of them were enjoying the stake Armand made from scratch. Hawke examined him closely - he seemed broken by time, hardened, despite his beautiful child-like figure. He had tattoos all over his body and he kept a tail from the upper half of his hair. He had two earrings in one lobe and none in the other. For some reason, she wasn't scared of him very much, just like she wasn't scared of Fenris when they first met. She felt his potential for danger, but that was about it.

Apart from having – at least apparently – no sense of humor and keeping much too quiet and austere, the lad was very good at what he was doing and he didn't seem to act on a lot of prejudice even if he wasn't surrounded by the best examples of the human race. Isabela certainly wasn't a worthy ambassador.

From left to right, there was Hawke, Isabela, Varric, Fenris, Armand and then Dorian enclosing the circle next to her. Things were particularly tense and she tried not to look at Fenris as much as he tried to do the same.

"I don't get it though," Isabela said to Dorian. "Is Serendipity a guy who tries to be a girl, or just a girl with an incredibly deep voice?"

"Why don't you find out for yourself? You've certainly haunted the Rose more than any ghost possibly could."

"Some things even I don't have the balls to try," Isabela answered with a sigh.

"How incredibly uncharacteristic of you," Fenris said with an intended sarcastic tone.

"Like you're any better, watching H-"

"There's a spider in my jacket!" Varric shouted, obviously causing a scene to interrupt Isabela's next sentence. "Gosh that blighted nug licker's fast."

"If it reaches your chest hair, the poor bastard's lost in a purgatory of no return," Hawke said in amusement.

"Purgatories are usually less chatty," Armand muttered sharply.

"Well someone's gotta step up and do the talking in order to compensate for your one-sentence-per-hour routine," Varric retorted charmingly. "And I thought Broody was the quiet one."

"Who is Broody?" Armand asked nonchalantly.

"This lovely bowl of honey next to me," Varric said sarcastically.

"Seems more like a deaf box of screaming to me," Armand said perceptively, but seeming particularly unimpressed.

"I'm not an elf expert, sorry," Varric said in annoyance.

"Oh, any resemblance between Fenris and the elven race is purely coincidental," Hawke intervened in amusement.

"As is the case with most elves," Armand retorted flatly through his half-closed eyelids.

"Crack a smile Armand, this subject is getting depressing. I'm an elf so I get a say in this," Dorian said sweetly. The brunette blue-eyed elf seemed to them very child-like and innocent. If it weren't for some of his perverse remarks, nobody would suspect that he worked in a brothel.

"As you wish," Armand said nonchalantly, poking the fire.

Hawke frowned at the sight. It seemed like this elf wouldn't listen to requests, much less take orders from anyone. His quickness in granting Dory's wish was incredibly strange and she didn't remember him mentioning having an Antivan friend outside the Rose, but she decided to let it go for now.

"Speaking of which, I think we should go through the Green Dales instead of going west along the shore. It's much less mountainous and draugthy," Hawke proposed eagerly.

"I disagree," Fenris intervened. "Dalish inhabited lands are very dangerous, as rainy and flat as they might be."

"What are they gonna do? Kill three of their own on the road? Do Isabela and I look like slavers or something?" Hawke asked with a frown.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Fenris said angry-but-calmly.

"Isn't that a terribly empty feeling – you know, the one in your skull?" Hawke retorted meanly.

"Fine, be that way," Fenris said in a supressed tone. "If ignorance is bliss, you must be the happiest person alive, Hawke."

"Ignorant?" Hawke asked in outrage. "I've travelled through such lands _alone _enough to know what I'm talking about."

"And I longer than you," Fenris retorted angrily.

"I'm sorry, is this a competition?" Hawke asked with a raised eyebrow.

"No, but if it were, you would be losing," Fenris said with a smirk.

"Well, I could agree with you, but then we'd both be wrong," Hawke said firmly.

"We're going through The Weyrs; more mountainous, but less inhabited," Armand intervened commandingly.

"Now there's someone with reason," Fenris said and looked at her with a smirk. "You should listen to him. You might learn a thing or two about the real world."

"He's reasonable, you're just being cocky," Hawke retaliated with a scowl.

"Our 'mensies' may not be syncing, but it's becoming clearer and clearer that someone is on it right now," Fenris said in annoyance.

"Seriously? You're blaming the period for this? What happened to clown m-… monster, troll, reckless, crazy, completely deranged and such?"

"Finding another reason just adds to the charm," Fenris said arrogantly.

Hawke frowned. "Is your ass jealous of the load of crap that's just come out of your mouth? Oh wait, you don't have an ass. You just are one."

"And so it begins… I just can't get-" Isabela said and sighed.

"No, no," Fenris interrupted. "Let her speak her mind. She will be ultimately speechless."

"Wooh, I'm so impressed," Hawke said sarcastically. "You act like arrogance is a virtue."

"I've learned from the best," Fenris retorted nonchalantly.

"Maybe you should learn to change your face too. It's particularly revolting," Hawke said angrily.

Fenris smiled. "I couldn't do that to you, Hawke. You would feel left out."

"At least I know how to move the muscles of my face," Hawke said while narrowing her eyes.

"Don't be sad, don't be blue, the Old God Dumat was ugly too," Fenris said mockingly.

"Oh shock me some more with those poetics. That's what a girl likes to hear," Hawke said sarcastically and crossed her arms.

"How about we shock each other with a moment of silence for the fallen?" Varric intervened sarcastically.

"I strongly approve," Armand said grumpily.

"All in favour?" Varric asked and raised his hand. Everybody raised their hands except for the two angry lovebirds. "Alright, let's join hands and close our eyes… No? Just me? Alright, let's just stay silent for a minute then."

* * *

><p><strong>Nighttime, After everyone went to sleep<strong>

"Hawke, I have to say this since nobody has the balls to," Isabela said as they kept watch. "You're being a bitch."

"Tell me something I don't know," Hawke said unperturbed.

"That you're being bitchy to Feny for the sole purpose of deflecting from something else," Isabela pressed bluntly.

Hawke remained unimpressed with mockingly lifted eyebrows. "Shock me some more with your incredible perception."

Isabela sighed. "Truth or dare."

"You think me that stupid?" Hawke asked in annoyance.

"Humor me, we've got a good half of this night to do nothing," Isabela pressed.

Hawke sighed in annoyance. "Fine, dare."

"I dare you to answer honestly-"

"That's cheating."

Isabela laughed. "I always cheat. Which makes it allowable."

"I'm not going to hear the end of it, am I?" Hawke asked perceptively. "Fine, ask your question."

Isabela grinned. "Have you ever been in love?"

"You're killing me," Hawke said and looked down. "Could you ask a stupider question?"

"I'm asking the question. You'll get your turn," Isabela said firmly. "Now answer honestly."

"Well since it's truth or dare, how can I not," Hawke said sarcastically.

"I've got all night," Isabela said nonchalantly.

Hawke sighed and looked up, deep in thought for a while. Finally she looked away while placing her elbows on her lifted knees. "Once," she said and kept eyeing the trees. "It didn't end well."

"See, now we're getting somewhere," Isabela said with an approving smile. "Is that the reason that you're being such a bitch now?"

"How the what… I don't see the connection here," Hawke said while shaking her head.

"You're having that particular, mind you, annoying feeling again and you want to push it back where it belongs and somehow make it disappear?"

Hawke sighed and looked away, grasping her hand with the other. "It's not the same."

"Well then how is it?" Isabela asked in confusion.

"It's-," Hawke growled. "It's just not the same, alright?" Hawke said in annoyance and kept looking in different directions.

"It's like talking to a man." Isabela sighed and shook her head. "Look, I know you're a mage and a warrior and you lost a lot of people, but you've grown up in a warm family and you're also a woman – and that means you have an easier time to understand whatever it is that you're feeling."

"You didn't grow up in a loving home, yet you seem to be more in touch with your mushy gushy feelings," Hawke said mockingly.

Isabela laughed. "My time for having mushy gushy feelings has long passed."

"Well, mine is too," Hawke said and looked down.

Isabela sighed. "I might not be a fan of romance, but, regardless – don't you think you owe it to him _and _to yourself, to resolve this issue? It won't go away, I promise. It's the ultimate bitch of life."

"Right – slavery, torture, discrimination, imprisonment, starvation and being in love is the ultimate bitch of life," Hawke said grumpily.

"Cruelty and denial of and to anything, either to outside people and things or to yourself – that's the bitch of life. Add love to the equation – it really won't go away."

"And what would you have me do?" Hawke asked angrily. "March in his tent and tell him what? That I want him around? That I'm afraid he's going to leave? That anytime in-between those mushy gushy feelings, if he caught on fire and I had a bucket of water, I'd drink it?"

Isabela smiled warmly. "Do whatever makes you happy, regardless of what that is. And stop being a bitch."

Hawke looked down and pressed her eyes shut. "I just- " she growled, "I can't go through this right now. Not tonight at least. I need to clear my head."

"Fine, we'll change the subject," Isabela said patiently. "I just wanted to help. I know I don't seem like such a good friend but, -"

"You're alright," Hawke interrupted her future potentially cheesy remark. "Don't sweat it too much."

"Fine," Isabela said with a smirk. "I get your drift. We're not very different, you and I. Well, I wouldn't go _that _far, but you get what I mean."

"I really don't," Hawke said with a crooked smile.

* * *

><p><strong>Nighttime, Second Camp<strong>

Somehow they were fortunate. Only four days had passed and they were almost reaching Ansburg. They set camp just as after crossed the great Minanter River. And such a grand river it was; its waters were storming and roaring forwards in the distance like a dignified tornado of hostility. Much like the atmosphere in their little group.

Varric, Isabela and Dorian started playing Wicked Grace by the "cool kids" fire pit, while the cut-throat Antivan elf and Fenris were trying not to burn the rabbits they caught at the "grumpy kids" fire pit.

"No, you don't want to do that," Armand said in his sharp Antivan accent. "Give me the hare." He skinned the rabbit with his bare hands, instead of how Fenris tried with a knife. "If you don't skin it with your hands fur will still remain and they might have diseases." He gestured towards the other dead rabbit. "Now you try."

Fenris did as he asked and after he skinned the little beast, he turned his head away to watch Hawke pace in a rush towards the forrest. As he did so he cut himself with the knife he recklessly let hanging on his leg. "Vishatta avada khar."

"Res ipsa loquitur," Armand said with a smirk. (*The thing speaks for itself)

Fenris frowned and widened his eyes, "You speak Tevene?"

"Sic est," Armand said bitterly. (*So it is) "You probably wonder how."

"The thing speaks for itself," Fenris said flatly. "There is no need to explain that you were a slave."

"Yes, like always attracts like," Armand said sharply, while working on the rabbits. "You have that capital accent about you, do you not?"

"Sadly, yes," Fenris said calmly. "And you have the Anderfelian-infused accent of Vol Dorma, am I wrong?"

"Not far wrong," Armand said without looking at him, seeming very focused and nonchalant. His bare arms were sculptured with muscles and ink tattoos. "But I stayed in many places. My tongue has become a raging oatmeal of accents."

"You escaped just to wonder the Imperium?" Fenris asked in confusion with a disapproving frown.

"Sadly, no," Armand said nonchalantly, poking the fire. "I was simply sold from one master to another."

"May I ask why?" Fenris asked patiently.

"You may not," Armand retorted flatly. "Unless I can invoke a lex talionis of sorts." (*law of the talion, eye for an eye)

Fenris didn't want to talk about _his _past in the Imperium, but his curiosity was peeking incredibly high. This was the first time he met an escaped slave who was clearly a warrior and no simple, ordinary slave.

"Very well," Fenris said knightly. "I served under a –"

"No, not that," Armand said and shook his palm in disgust. "I don't give a spitting copper for your past. What would that accomplish?" Armand finally looked at him. "Exchanging sob stories to fill the time. I don't think you're that eager to share."

"I'm not," Fenris said while frowning. "But you invoked the law of the talion."

Armand didn't look at him anymore. It was interesting to see such a dark and sharp elf minding his business and talking about such an uncomfortable subject without so much as a look at his interlocutor. Fenris wondered if he appeared like that to the others, as if he was looking through a mirror.

"Yes, but that means I ask you something and then you can prod me of my life," the Antivan retorted with ease.

"Proceed then," Fenris nodded calmly.

"The thing speaks for itself, as I said," Armand pressed while keeping his eyes on the fire. "You want the redheaded human."

Fenris frowned to no end. "I feel like there should be a question in there, yet I can't seem to find it."

Armand smirked only shortly without looking at him. "Have you done something about it then?" he asked like a true nonchalant general.

"That is arguable," Fenris replied while raising an eyebrow.

"That is arguable," Armand repeated almost mockingly. "Did you or didn't you? It's as simple as the moon and the stars."

"I don't see how this is your concern," Fenris said defensively, being confused to no end that such a cut-throat elf would even care about such things and from all the question he could ask him, he chose to prod him of women problems.

His Antivan accent stung like spears, "It's not your concern why this is my concern. Humor me."

Fenris rolled his eyes and sighed, then looked into the fire. He pressed his eyes at how ridiculous the words sounded in his head, and now even more ridiculous as he let them out, "We kissed and never talked about it."

For the first time ever, Armand laughed. "Bad."

"You don't say," Fenris said sarcastically while shaking his head.

"You think you did something wrong?" Armand asked perceptively.

"Not exactly," Fenris replied. "Regardless, I don't know what to do at the moment."

Armand looked at him shortly. "That depends. Do you want to bed her or is it more than that?"

Fenris swallowed heavily. This was the manliest, most private and cut-throat person he met in a long time and suddenly he was being inquired by this man about matters of the heart. It was simply, utterly ridiculous. But no one was around to hear him and he took the chance and decided to curse at himself later.

Fenris placed an elbow on his lifted knee, "It's more than that," he said nonchalantly.

Again, the elf's Antivan and Tevinter-infused deep accent stung him. "And you decided to sit and mope like a little bitch."

"I'm sorry, are you some kind of strange hopeless romantic?" Fenris asked defensively. "I see no point in this."

"I do," the Antivan retorted. "I learned a thing or two when I got free. Like, not be a little bitch."

"You're dwelling in dangerous and ultimately pointless territory," Fenris deflected, pertaining to matters of the heart. What did slaves have to win from wasting their time with love.

Armand sighed and seemed even more intimidating now. His face was very child-like and sharp, apart from his giant scar across it, but his deep voice and his way of speaking, his way of looking at things, gave him an aura of wisdom and fierce maturity Fenris didn't see in himself, even if others did. "Little bitches are difficult. Maybe I should give you a kick by using my tale as a starter. I was born in Antiva and was sold to the Crows. After I had a few disagreements, let's say, with them, I was sold to the Imperium. Little did I know however, that I started to be sold from one master to another, as a spy and undercover assassin. I escaped with little help, but anyway, somehow I worked both for the Crows and for every other master that made use of my services. I worked for all these enemies. But I was a slave. Nothing more."

Fenris widened his eyes in amazement. This man's life must have been even worse than his, if one overlooked the horrific magic ritual he had to suffer.

"Close that mouth before the flies go in," Armand said sharply. "You don't strike me as having been a trophy slave."

"In a way I was," Fenris said bitterly. "But it did not help."

"Nothing does, not even your master having affection for you," Armand replied without looking at him. "It is a bitch of life and it never goes away if you don't let it."

Fenris didn't answer. He was much too confused and baffled, to say the least.

Armand sighed. "My point is – I've been through enough in my years to know this is no life."

"What do you mean?" Fenris pressed.

"Being a slave with all the potential to escape _and _be a former slave with no clue how to function in a free world. You will cling to the life you once had, as horrible as it might have been, because it is familiar. But it is poison."

Fenris remained silent and listened to him, for he wasn't finished, "I think I was worse than you. But hasty judgements are criminal, I should not presume. Though the result is much the same – you squander and lose precious time trying to convince yourself that there is no life for you. And then it's too late."

"And that's what you're recommending? Throw myself in some fantasy life with romance, pudding and rainbows?" Fenris asked sarcastically.

Armand laughed again, surprisingly hoarsely, "Must it be so difficult? We are not meant to go through this alone. Loneliness is exactly what will kill us faster than it does ordinary men."

Fenris shook his head, "I'm having a hard time understanding your view."

"You think too much, do you not?" Armand said sharply. "How about you give that little brain a pause – and do something that you enjoy. Like her."

"It's not that simple," Fenris retorted grumpily.

"Isn't it?" Armand said as he took the rabbits off the fire. "I think it is that simple. Unless you want it to be difficult, in which case – have at it, go on a limb and slit your own throat."

Fenris didn't answer. Armand smirked, "Don't listen to me. What do I know? I'm just a former slave. Freedom must be a terrible burden, no? Well, what do I know?"

Baffling. Revolting. He couldn't even –

Armand turned his head to him with sharp and piercing eyes. "It won't kill you, happiness. Thinking too much will. Get in the way and eventually kill you. That I promise."

Fenris pressed his lips and frowned. "And what would you have me do?"

"Go to her?" Armand said sardonically. "Do whatever you feel like doing to her?"

"She didn't talk about it. No matter how ambiguous things are, it is quite clear that she wants to be left alone on this matter."

Armand laughed. "Who is the man? Her or you? Women don't chase."

"She is no ordinary woman," Fenris said while shaking his head bitterly.

"I don't care if she has two sets of genitals or she is simply just a true warrior at heart, Little Bitch. Who initiated it, you or her?"

Fenris swallowed heavily. "I did."

"Then you have to go to her," Armand said commandingly, pointing with his knife at the forest. "Go."

Fenris frowned. "Now?"

"Now or never, little bitch," Armand said nonchalantly while cutting off the rabbits.

Fenris sighed and got up, but the Antivan's deep voice stopped his pace. "She is broken." He turned around to look the strange elf. "She needs more freedom than you do. Remember that."

He frowned. "What are you saying?"

"Acta non verba," Armand said grumpily. "Go." (*Deeds, not words)

* * *

><p><strong>Nighttime, Inside the Forrest<strong>

Bushes, shrubbery and more bushes. Bah. He was almost positive that he was lost. At one point it got so horrifyingly quiet and empty that even he felt uneasy and in danger.

Suddenly it started raining slowly through the high trees. Then heavily. This was no anomaly.

He kept tumbling through the bushes and walking forward, looking in different directions for the one red ponytail he used to mock with graceful arrogance. He stumbled upon a piece of a fallen branch and shrubbery and he fell right into his face on the moist grass. The rain kept pouring on him as he looked like a grumpy corpse that would never have the strength to get up.

But eventually he became angry and got up, following the path where the rain became heavier and stormier and finally, he found her strolling nonchalantly in a circle, whistling and not giving a damn that her rain made a tree fall on top of him just a few minutes ago.

"I knew somehow it would be you who almost got me killed," Fenris said angrily.

She didn't turn around to look at him. "Nobody told you to follow me, you know." She looked up and let the drops fall on her already soaking wet hair and face. He watched her with a furious scowl. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"Apology not accepted," Fenris said angrily. "What are you even doing?"

Hawke chuckled. "Isn't it obvious? I'm making it rain?" She could feel him staying behind her with a disapproving headshake. "No? Too hard a concept to grasp?"

"I'm perfectly able to grasp the obvious at hand," Fenris said and crossed his arms. "What's a mystery is why you would do it here and now- bah." He shoved his arm at the air. "Of course I know. Because it's a secluded, dark place where _almost _nothing would come to harm and _almost _no one would come looking for you."

"I get your point," Hawke said calmly with her back still turned. "You're alive. You found me. You can go back now."

In that cold –yet refreshing – pouring rain, Fenris frowned, the water dripping from his hair and face, and said in a fast, mocking tone, "No."

"I'm asking you to go," Hawke said calmly.

Fenris started pointing even if her back was turned to him, "I promised your Mother that I woul-"

"Oh, don't put this on your sense of honour and on my Mother," Hawke interrupted him in a sharp tone. "We both know why you're here."

"Do we now?" Fenris asked mockingly. "Illuminate me," he stretched his arms. "I'm lost in wet and utter darkness at the moment."

Hawke chuckled with her back still turned and a light beam came out of her stretched hand, "Better?"

"Don't mock me," Fenris said angrily.

"I'm not," Hawke contradicted him softly, "Just mirroring your own deflections – mind you, in a more graceful way."

"So you do mean to mock me," Fenris pressed and crossed his arms.

"As far as I remember, what I meant was for you to leave," Hawke said in amusement.

"And I refuse, yet again," Fenris said in furious tone. "What now?"

"And I insist, yet again," Hawke retorted. "I can do this all night."

"So can I," Fenris persisted. "Just watch me."

"I'd rather not," Hawke said in amusement. "Much too busy concentrating here."

"You're deflecting, yet again," Fenris said perceptively.

Hawke chuckled. "So?"

Fenris threw his arms in the air. "Bah, you're impossible."

Hawke chuckled again. "I think that's a reasonable enough deal breaker, no?" She looked up again and closed her eyes to feel the rain. "So you can leave."

Fenris didn't answer, instead he watched her with incredible fury, seeming to implode at any second as the soft rain poured ever so nonchalantly across his face.

Hawke lifted her eyebrows in waiting for a response, but when she caught on his intentional silence she continued, "Or you can just stand there and loo-

A brute force turned her around, a brute force called Fenris, who eyed her with the most enraged look in history as he held her firmly by the arms, the spikes of his gauntlets almost ripping her sleeves. Hawke remained unaffected and mirrored the moves of his wondering eyes, catching them in her unyielding determination to remain a statue in silent protest.

This impossible woman, this frustrating good for nothing forsaken nightmare of a –

_She _caught him by the back of his neck in a second and slammed her lips into his, at which point – ignoring his deep surprise – enfolded her quickly in his arms and pressed her against him with all his strength, just a few attempts away from thoroughly crushing her. He brushed his gauntlets across her back from the havoc of his unhinged balance. She pressed passionately and he pressed just the same, this enrapturing pair of strong counterforces making them move in circles. He even forgot it was raining, but only realized it as she decisively caught his face in her hands and stopped them from moving. The water kept pouring and pouring tumultuously, which he felt on her soaking wet hair that was dripping rain on his cheek. Actually, the rain was starting to become very harsh now, as if it was increasing in intensity along with them. It felt maddeningly good for him to have his face caught in her hands and her lips, such diabolical fancy they were. So this was Hawke when she initiated things…The wild flame with which she pressed them onto his lips, demanding more of them with such fierce drive – was she the one who was drunk now? – and making him simply far beyond driven.

As lovely as the scene was for him, the far beyond driven part of the equation viciously possessed him. He was led to pull away from her lips and shove her into the crooked tree behind him, under a huge and very leafy branch which slowed the rain from pouring so heavily on them. He growled impatiently and smashed his lips into hers again, biting at them and forcing her mouth open. The crooked tree made it so that she was in a bit of a leaning backwards position, which led her to raise her knees and encage his hips. After he faintly leaned over her, he felt the cold rain like spears on his back as she brutally snapped the back of his vest open and thrust her nails into the safe, marking-free spots she already became to know without so much as a glance. He growled ferociously and breathed heavily in her mouth, at which point she pulled her wicked tongue away and started biting at his neck like wildfire. He couldn't, he couldn't for the love of – he thrust his gauntlet in the 'nice ass' she kept mocking and taunting him with, at which she interrupted her devil's work on his neck and pressed him tighter against her to gasp for air.

The tree suddenly bent backwards a few inches with a strong shake, but it didn't seem to be an interesting or alarm event for her. She resumed her flaming kiss to which he responded passionately without question. He couldn't control himself – he squeezed firmly where he was grabbing and run his gauntlet on her thighs and all the way to her knees, moving them in such a way that she was forced to enfold him with her legs. She caught his face in her hands again and brought him back to her lips with fierce command, forcing his mouth open and pushing her diabolical tongue in to meet his. With uncontrollable desire, he woke up ripping her shirt at the back with his other hand and brushing the spikes against her skin, to which she didn't seem to react at all negatively. She welcomed his barbaric actions and kissed him further ruthlessly.

As maddening as that was – and keenly noticing the rain becoming heavier and stormier with each passing second – something else enraptured him to such an extent that he couldn't stop giving out a hoarse and deep moan. She was moving her hips with a faint but decisive motion which pressed against his pants so viciously bad he felt the fiery mechanical need to push himself into her over and over again, which he did only once, but strong enough for her to stop her brutal kiss and gasp for air again.

And then the tree fell for good. Along with a few giant branches that he only now realized caught on fire beforehand. Fortunately for them, the branches formed a tent on them instead of outright killing them. They got up from the mess with pale faces, both their hearts beating like wild dogs in their chest. She breathed heavily and looked in different directions and he noticed the rain stopped when the tree collapsed. The flames also died in an instant.

They looked at each other in silence as they breathed heavily in shock, then Hawke pressed her eyes shut with a painful scowl. She stormed out of the place and disappeared into the neverending woods, without much courtesy for him, who was already positively lost in the forest as it is.

* * *

><p><strong>Back to Camp<strong>

Everyone was in their tents, except for Armand who was staying watch and Dorian who was somewhere father from the firepit and reading the big fat book that Hawke brought with her.

As he approached furiously, Armand looked at him with a sharp and unperturbed look. "Well?"

Fenris sat down by the fire in front of him and sighed bitterly, "We did it again without so much as a word."

Armand scared him with a sudden laugh, "Bad. Baaad."

"I told you it wasn't simple," Fenris said angrily. "Illa bei umo avada khar."

"Fac fortia et patere," Armand interrupted Fenris's curses.

"Do brave deeds and endure?" Fenris asked angrily. "This is not some honourable and noble cause a warrior fights, this is plain and ridiculous … well, ridiculousness," he muttered ineloquently.

Armand laughed again fiercely, "Factum fieri infectum non potest. It is impossible for a deed to be undone." He lifted his chip up and looked at him with narrowed eyes. "You just have to stop being such a little bitch, little bitch."

"I wasn't the one who stormed off," Fenris growled angrily.

"You were the one who didn't catch her when she did," Armand retaliated sharply. "That's still little bitch in my book."

"And what would you have me do?" Fenris asked in frustration.

Armand looked away and gazed at the reading elf in the distance. "You have to press harder. I'm feeling for you, little bitch. I'll show you."

Fenris raised an eyebrow and looked in the direction Armand was looking, "I hope you mean it in the conversational way."

"Of course," Armand said in a sharp accent. "But not tonight, as much as I feel you want to keep watch with me and know all my secrets."

"Why shouldn't I?" Fenris asked grumpily.

"Because Dorian is my guard partner," Armand said flatly. "Go have your beautify sleep, little bitch. We'll discuss this tomorrow."

"I'm starting to grow tired of this idiotic pet name," Fenris said indignantly.

"It is not idiotic when it's the truth," Armand retorted with a decisive smirk. "Now go," he gestured with his pocket knife. "Come on, off you go."

* * *

><p><strong>Half an hour later<strong>

Fenris would not even think of it, as he sat in his tent. That impossible woman who didn't even have the courtesy to wait for him and find their way out of that place. She could have just stayed silent in her stupid defensiveness, instead of storming off like a – what Armand said. Bah.

Among the tumult in his intensely cursing thoughts, Fenris' ear flinched at a sharp, dinstinct sound of Armand laughing very differently than his scary, hoarse one. Who would he have to laugh at when he wasn't here? He stuck his eye between the curtains of his tent and once again, _will wonders never cease._

He saw the emotionless, scary, cut-throat Armand staying by the fire with a hand over the other elf's shoulder and the other grasping his face as they shared a very warm kiss. So that's why he seemed so eager to prod him of matters of the heart and tried to help him. The Antivan's painful journey through the tempest of being a former slave had ended and he was in fact, accepting all the liberties and joys that came with his freedom – in the elf's throat. It was horrifying to see that rock-hard brutal elf sharing such a warm and… clearly not a first kiss with his fellow elf. No, it was obvious that this was old news. But still, baffling and terrifying, to see him be so … gentle and careful in his grip around his fragile lover. The two stopped and Armand brushed Dorian's black hair gently and brought it under his chin while gazing vigilantly in all directions for danger. Armand's tale was complete. Or at least, in a way of looking at it. He had to appreciate his blunt intent to help him in completing his own tale.

But no… this was too much. He would never see himself as being so free, looking so content. No, this was too much to process for one night. He wished there was a giant branch that could fall on him now and make him unconscious, for he couldn't sleep. _Vishatta. Vishatta avada khar, nunc occide me_ (*kill me now).


	7. So Far, So Good, So Desperate To Deny

_This woman's mind is strange, in a way grotesque, with amazing and startling powers._

**Hawke, The Fade**

She had been having a dream about a long lost figure from her past – a young human lad with an incredibly cocky smirk, astonishingly keen blue eyes and hair as black as raven and ebony, a giant lovely steel sword on his back. It was strange, but she couldn't remember his voice – he was talking or singing in her dream, but it was a silent box of screaming. She couldn't hear him.

For a second, the man turned and saw her, just for a second. He looked at her as if he had recognized her, a small contained smile to his lips and then quickly turned his head away again to resume his stupendously deaf speech with awe.

She didn't only admire him for being a warrior, no. This time it became clearer, in her reverie, that she envied him for being absent of magical powers. She envied him because she could never ever be like him – just a human and just a warrior. Maybe she even envied him for being a man, but that was unnecessary to the tale. She conferred a metaphorical form to her experience as a child and a young woman – the feeling of inadequacy. Both the warrior reverie and the expression "to bump chests with reality" were parts of an unconscious context which only highlighted her own feelings of inadequacy. The ones that came from the simple fact that she couldn't have been born normal and from the lack of anything else thereof that could have helped her win her father's love and approval or her own, for that matter.

She was lying to herself, though. Somewhere deep down, she liked being different; she used her flaws as useful weapons and defences – she thrived because of those flaws, her inadequacies and impenetrable complexes. Like being brutal and sharp whilst wanting to help – to mask her weakness, that she was no less kind and patient than a saint. Or damning people, giving them a hard time to read her, pushing, oh – all the pushing away. Would it not for all the defences of the world, would it not for all the stratagems she used – such a wonderful way of foreseeing every move and expecting the inevitable, all the while getting frustrated by its delay.

Or being overly physical and independent, keeping an aura of assurance and nonchalance, so she wouldn't have to remind herself, so she wouldn't alarm her friends that she could snap her fingers and cause a hundred people to die in terrible burning agony only seconds later.

Such terrible fancy, being at the mercy of your own moral abhorrence. Your decisions very much depending on the state of mind you were in – did you trust yourself to do the right thing? Did you trust that you wouldn't go mad? Switch from terrible kindness to excessive cruelty in one faint second?

Then she realized it was Carver. He had once been here. And the deafness was either her unconscious defences or this was a collective powerful memory of other Grey Wardens who simply didn't pay attention or gave a damn about his ranting.

* * *

><p><strong>Fenris, The Fade<strong>

Fenris took a seat on the remains of a cut tree, Armand standing next to him with crossed arms and an unyieldingly content figure. They watched Hawke in silence, as she stood in the distance alone with her book, reading with great pleasure – immersed, like always, in whatever she put a hand on.

"Ah, yes, it's vital that I go," Fenris said aloud, but couldn't hear his words properly on account of the thunder and the tripping rain. Then he realized with great distress, that this was all her, yet again.

"I can only assume you won't go to her," Armand said flatly. His Antivan and Vol Dorman accent was sharp and precise, as always happened when he was unperturbed and controlled. Fenris enjoyed the richness it gave to his ever so characteristically short sentences. He thought that Tevinters were rather wise to savor accents. They taught them things about their own tongue.

Hers was rather loud and harsh, deeply Ferelden and containing the ravishingly captivating mixture of half- city elf accent and half- human noble.

He rather loved her- no, he meant, he rather loved her lean graceful movements, and the way in which she responded wholeheartedly to things, to him and his questions, or sometimes not at all. She had been gracious to him since the first moment they met, sharing this, her friends, her food, her experience, her knowledge especially – she gave it wholeheartedly.

"She is a strange woman, indeed. I can see why you fancy her so," Armand said finally.

"Oh?" Fenris replied flatly without looking up at the elf.

"Mind you, I do not think you put much value in appearances, like this undeniably innocent yet badass beauty she has about her figure. But for herself in general – I think you fancy her honesty and dedication, even in the midst of her self-doubt. I think you like that she is a better version of you. One you would like to be yourself, were you not a slave."

His remark amazed him. He forgot how completely in touch with his and other's emotional world this elf was, although being the very strongest of them all, and that he could read minds. He had assumed also that the elf had been watching him of late in his utter silence, keeping his distance, making use of that time to size him up and gather a more comprehensive portrait – whatever that was.

"You must tell me everything you know," Fenris demanded truthfully. His face flushed for an instant, in the cruel waiting of the Antivan's predictable short response, much like his own.

"Armand, please let me know everything," Fenris pressed, due to his silence.

"Oh, yes, I mean to. But let me have a few moments more. Something is going on, you see, and I don't know if it's her general wickedness."

"Wickedness?" he asked in utter innocence.

"I don't mean it so seriously. You see, she's such a strong woman so strange in her ways. Let me tell you everything, yes."

But before he began to look at him and listen, he took stock of her in the distance once more, and made himself note that no one among them, not even this arguably fascinating former slave standing beside him nor the others, no one of them, was anything like her.

In the years they had known each other, they'd witnessed wonders together. They had seen so many strange cases of humanity vs. cruelty, harmless and controlled magic vs. blood magic. They were thoroughly humbled by these visitations, which had almost made a mockery of them, because they were both on a quest for answers which probably did not exist. Each to their own.

At one point, a very long time ago, his attitude had been one of profound sadness, among the paranoia. Thinking that for all her drive and dedication, she could easily come to outwit the world's finest minds and she could destroy the vast majority of this world's men, if she wanted to. In some kind of mage paradise - though she never pressed on mages rebelling, more was this his thinking ahead and paranoia – she _could _create and enforce peace. It was nonsense – a concept drenched in violence and blood.

But after he got to know her better and started feeling a sense of security and trust in her, he found it difficult to attempt to reason with her on some topics. He thought he would have to take care with his words not to insulter her. But she showed him he needn't have worried. She could barely take offense from him.

During their older convocations, they had few and short discussions about the essence of resorting to blood magic and she kept explaining to him that he was right in his insistencies that if you poke a man enough times and threaten his life or worse, the life of his beloved ones, he could resort to blood magic. She admitted to the fact that she wasn't perfect – that there was a possibility that even she could come to such a tragic event, if some absurd circumstances forced her into it. She didn't and couldn't state that she would never, ever – that she was certain – go through with such a thing.

"I don't treasure my weaknesses," she'd explained to him. "The blood conveys power, I don't question that. Only a fool would. But I know from what I've learned in my past years that the ability to die is key. If I do resort to blood magic by some absurd stretch of the imagination – I'll become too strong for a simple act of suicide thereafter. And I cannot allow that, if I think about it. No, I think that there is a good possibility that I'd say – let me be the human one among you. Let me acquire my strength slowly, as others mages did before me, from time and from my stamina, my resistances. I wouldn't want to become what so many had become through these blood rituals – I would not be that strong and that distant from an easy demise."

Fenris had been amazed at Hawke's obvious displeasure in talking about such things. Nothing about Hawke was simple precisely because everything was. Apart from that, she seemed to be so ancient even if she looked so young and innocent, child-like with those big hazel eyes that screamed 'Where are we? What are we doing? How should I know where we're going? We do a lot of walking, don't we?'.

So ancient as to be utterly divorced from preconceptions and platitudes, or case-driven philosophies. She wanted to know and to understand, before making such statements. But she was honest about it all. About her weaknesses and her strong suits. At first, he didn't seem to be impressed by her speech, but nothing was farther from the truth. He couldn't ask more of her than that. He deeply regretted being hostile to her in the beginning for being a mage.

Who was he to judge such a creature like Hawke? Time after time she proved just how utterly different she was from any magister he had known. She was not of the same species.

Fenris himself had felt a great respect for Hawke's fierce disinclination to use magic at all, of any kinds. She was considerably stronger than other humans and maybe even stronger than him, well able to rule the battlefield and could outmanoeuvre the most clever opponent with ease. Though she was still bound by the laws of "gravity" to a far greater extent than other mages, intentionally.

He shuddered a bit, reminding himself of this creature's deliberate limitations, and of the wisdom she seemed to possess.

That he had seen her, that he'd met her, that he'd heard her voice welcome him into her tumultuous life without much judgement on her part directed at him – all that was reason for thanks.

"This woman is very powerful," Armand finally remarked.

Fenris ignored his remark, "She's been playing a few tricks on me since that one night, and I'm not sure why or how. To be fair, I was drunk the second time. The third, she did it to me. I'm quite taken aback."

"It has you exhausted, hm?" he said considerately. "Are you sure you want to pursue this?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Mark my words. She will be mine," Fenris said firmly.

* * *

><p>At the crack of dawn, Fenris was deeply disturbed by a burst of light upsetting his peaceful and belated sleep, his tent was being lifted up and disassembled.<p>

"Wake up, sleepy head," Hawke's faint mockingly sweet voice clawed his ears.

He frowned and tried to get up, resting on his elbow and muttering in a sleepy voice, "I'm getting old."

"You're getting lazy," Hawke retorted without looking at him. "Come on, I can't wait to sleep. You can't imagine what it's like to be stuck with Isabela for half a night."

"Poor you," he said mockingly and got up.

"Maybe I should change patrols and put you with her, so you'd see for yourself," Hawke said with a very determined tone.

"I'd rather drink lava," Fenris said flatly.

Hawke gave him an approving smirk and carried everything to the carriage. He lifted up a couple of things too and followed her, to which Isabela suddenly said, "Is that a pickle in your pocket or are you just happy to see us?"

Fenris turned his head to her with a masked nonchalant look, "For you? Not even force magic can raise it."

Hawke turned her head and widened her eyes in horror at Fenris's uncharacteristically blunt and sexual remark, all the while Isabela ignored his insult and kept staring at his pants. His brief and sudden courage was indeed brief, for he coughed awkwardly and walked away.

Hawke watched him with an amused grin as she leaned with her arm on the carriage, "Somebody got buuurned."

"Yeah, enjoy his three seconds of glory," Isabela said in annoyance. "Big fucking deal."

"_Was _it big? I didn't get to catch a look," Hawke said in amusement.

"I couldn't tell," Isabela said grumpily. "At least he was truthful."

"Who would have thought," Hawke said cockily, "A certain head didn't turn for Isabela. And by certain, I don't mean Fenris, but a particular _head._"

"Of course, he's basically into guys. Like you," Isabela retorted defensively.

Hawke leaned cockily against the carriage and looked at Isabela with a grin that said 'I'm so enjoying this and there's nothing you can use as a comeback to turn the table.'

"Black hair woman, lift some things and make yourself useful," Armand said grumpily nearby.

Isabela turned around and rolled her eyes, "Your wish is my command."

"Don't jest," Armand said sharply. "With that attitude you can wake up on a slave boat to Minrathous any day now."

"Wherever it takes me, I'd be content with just being on a boat," Isabela said with a grin. "Then I'll take care of other inconveniences."

"You've been lucky," Armand said flatly. "Luck is chaotic for a reason."

"I can take care of myself. That has nothing to do with luck," Isabela retorted.

"You think yourself too valuable," Armand said, shaking his head. "Survival is your strong suit, but your right to freedom ends where the other's begins."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Isabela asked angrily.

"Be careful who you call friend and who you call usable object," Armand said flatly.

"You don't know me, elf," Isabela retorted defensively.

"I've seen a thousand like you," Armand said with calm disgust. "I don't need to know more." He went by the remaining tents left her hanging.

"What was that all about?" Hawke came by her and asked.

"Harmless flirtations," Isabela lied nonchalantly. "I can't wait to sleep."

"You can say that again," Hawke said with a smile. "We ready to go?"

"As soon as Varric's done with his business in the woods," Dorian said. "Ladies, can you help me here?"

In the meantime, Armand beckoned subtly for Fenris to come by the camp.

"Ready for lesson number one, little bitch?"

Fenris crossed his arms grumpily, "Proceed away, Doctor Love."

"She's a mean trickster, yes?" Armand asked perceptively.

"Very much so," Fenris said grumpily. "She's not a liar, but using the truth to deceive is all the more effective by her principles."

"Beat the trickster at his own game. And how do you do that?" Armand said while sharping up his knife. Fenris didn't answer. "You either use their weapon against them or you surprise them with a new kind of attack."

"I'm familiar with these stratagems. Sadly, she knows them by heart," Fenris said calmly.

Armand laughed. "I take it she's been winning at her game for some time now."

Fenris shook his head, remembering all those witty stratagems she used on him in the beginning, "You have no idea."

"Ego te provoco," Armand said flatly. "Turn the tables. Throw the gauntlet, you know."

"Provoker her?" Fenris asked bewilderedly.

"Well, if you say she's a scrapper, why not turn the table? From whence you came, you shall remain. You can't let her carry this game."

"Fine, state your strategy."

"Vero nihil verus. There's nothing truer than the truth. You know, the truth is beautiful, as the black hair woman said – and that's why it hates delay. So provoke her to be true. In so, forgive the cliché, but the truth will set you free."

"Right, is this some kind of 'a word to the wise' and the hearer can fill in the rest? Because you're just stating platitudes at the moment."

"Forgive me, I'm being nostalgic of those words of wisdom. They're probably the only thing I miss about that filthy Imperium."

"Be more specific, verba gratia," Fenris said angrily.

"If you assault her for answers, she won't back down. That much I can see about your redhead."

"She's not _my _redhead," Fenris said defensively.

Armand sighed, "Alright, little bitch. _That _redhead. Who kissed who yesterday?"

"She did."

"That makes things much simpler. Take any opportunity to disarm her. Ah, my brain is not working, what was the expression… Make a sound in the east, then strike in the west."

"Meaning?"

"You create an element of expectation in the enemy's eyes, then surprise him with an attack where his defenses are weakened. So, in other words, if she is such a good conversational strategist, attack her by using other means. She expects you to be silent or argue with her, yes? That's what you've been doing."

"What do you want me to do? Scare her to death for a confession?"

"No, no, nothing blunt. You know this wouldn't work. She will fight back stubbornly and effectively. No," Armand said decisively and shook his palm, the gestured, "Make it more ah… blunt, yet slow. A damager over time thing."

"No more riddles, please."

"Take the opportunity to pilfer a goat. While carrying out your plans be flexible enough to take advantage of any opportunity that presents itself, however small, and avail yourself of any profit, however slight. Like now –My friend and the other human will want to sleep in the carriage. I can issue the dwarf to come sit with me as I drive. Then you'll have an opportunity. Strike with exactly what you've been doing and not talking about."

"What?"

"That's your least expected attack. She knows you wouldn't be so cocky and teasing, at least not in public."

"What you're implying sounds like mild rape."

Armand laughed. "It's not rape if the other is willing. And call it for what it is – an innocent form of harassment. Nobody has to rape anyone."

"Can you give me something else to work with?"

"If that doesn't work, you can jump and bark at me later and I'll give you lesson number two, yes?"

"You're just as bad as her."

Armand laughed. "Of course. Redheads are evil. You have white hair, you can take on any color you want, you understand?"

Fenris shook his head. "I wish I could say no, but you make some sense."

"Of course I do," Armand said commandingly. "I've already been through this."

Fenris crossed his arms, "Yes, evidently so."

Armand flinched for half a second and assumed an assaultive position. "Don't be sad, don't be blue, don't ask questions you don't want the answer to. Yes, little bitch?"

"Your mocking threat is nothing if not deeply unnecessary," Fenris said with an unimpressed grimace. Then he practically lied, "I have no interest in your tale."

"Good," Armand said while brushing the knife on his palm. "Keep it that way."

* * *

><p><strong>Inside the Carriage, Approaching The Weyrs<strong>

Armand kept his word and beckoned for Varric to go next to him and keep him company while driving the carriage when Isabela and Dorian indeed dozed off after, mind you, the cruel and revolting process of singing extremely dirty songs in extremely out of sync tones.

Hawke kept saying she wanted to sleep, but didn't actually keep to her apparent persistency, much as always when it came to sleep.

As if by telepathy, Armand looked back in the carriage to Fenris with a firm look and a decisive nod, to which he responded much the same and turned his head to Hawke. He scooted over the two sleeping 'beauties' and went for the furthest in the back bench where she was sitting peacefully, looking behind outside.

When he took a seat, firstly at a mechanically made polite distance, Hawke turned her head with a surprised frown, "You wish something of me?"

"A company better than a rock, to say the least?" Fenris said nonchalantly.

She narrowed her eyes at him and kept staying on her knees on the bench to face the small window at the back of the carriage. She turned her head to the window and said, "Not much I can do for you, Sir. I'm as helpful as a dying lemming at the moment."

"You don't look or smell dead enough," Fenris retaliated with a short grin. Throwing the gauntlet… any time now…

"Give it a minute," Hawke said jokingly and smiled without looking at him.

"Sadly, my patience is at an end," Fenris said firmly and pulled her by the short Warden robe as to get her to turn around and sit back on the bench normally.

She opposed him with resistance and he kept trying to pull her down. "Could you stop it? If it rips, you pay for it."

"And I am poor," Fenris said in amusement. "So you better come down here before you engage in a bargain without cause for gain."

"I'd rather watch the scenery, thank you," Hawke said nonchalantly.

Armand's long years of training as an assassin shrouded in shadows made his ears very sharp. Unlike Varric, who was talking his mouth like a beating drum anyway telling some dragon slaying story. He grew tired of this painful scene and drove the carriage over a bump, to which the carriage jolted heavily.

Back inside, Hawke pretty much fell on her left on top of Fenris, who caught her as he fell on his back against half the wall and half on the bench. He kept his hands wrapped around her with firm decisiveness and gave her a very big and evil grin which screamed 'You're screwed'. She looked at him with a fierce scowl and cheeks boiling red with fire. He raised them up and brushed his gauntlet on her thigh, as he leaned forward still immobilizing her with one strong hand and started kissing slowly on her neck.

"What are you doing?" Hawke asked quietly with masked calmness.

He didn't answer her.

"Fen- _ah,_" she gasped and pressed her eyes, "Fenris what are you doi-_hhing_," she stuttered and tensed.

He muttered through his kisses, "My mouth is too busy to answer your foolish question."

"Sto -_hop_," she tried to say and tensed even more, catching him by the arm that was holding her so brutally. Her eyes were going through the back of her head, "I mean _hiih_ -t."

He sunk his teeth into her with perfect control, not caring anymore about the consequences. Her attempted constraints meant nothing to him. And to her as well, so it started to seem, for she was melting in his grip like ice on fire. He brushed the spikes gently up her thigh and moved her loose hair away from her ear, assaulting it calmly with more slow and lethally diabolical kisses and little bites. She breathed hard and he saw with the back of his eye how she bit her lip to stop whatever sound was screaming to come out of her at this evil and petty move he made on her.

Yes, that was it. Throwing the gauntlet. She couldn't get out of this form of attack even she wanted to. She was trying to pull away only faintly, but even so, he decisively grabbed her face and turned it to face him, meet her tortured and aroused figure begging him to stop. But no, two can play at this game. He gave her a giant wicked grin and continued his devil's work all over her neck again. Whatever she was doing, it wasn't for the purpose of stopping him. She thrust her nails in his thigh and held on to it firmly. Was she trying to beat him at his own game? She brushed her nails up aggressively until the head of the femur, then grabbed his inner thigh as an open threat. His reason didn't work very well at that point, for it could have been over for the growing bulge in his pants in a second if she decided to suddenly use her gauntlet to strip him of any change to have a family.

Thank the gods, for she didn't do that, although he felt guilty to admit to himself – that it filled him with a curious rush of dark desire. He sensed a threat in her posture, but also an immense vigor, as well as harmlessness. But again that sense of bliss descended upon him, and the sight of Hawke's forceful slim body up ahead of him was a constant guilty delight.

Instead of leaving him childless, she inhaled deeply, bit her lip again to withhold all sounds and moved her hand to forcefully grab him by the throat. She looked so diabolically furious, telepathically saying with her eyes 'You wanna mess with me?' and she squeezed his neck tighter. Whatever, they seemed marvelous to him and they maddened his already boyish sense of adventure and desire. She brought him closer, bumping foreheads and breathing hot air on his neck and preparing for murder. She quickly bit his lip and forced his mouth open, pushing her tongue in with an even more driven fury than the last time they had such an encounter. He was cornered and under her full command, but allowing her every move to possess him. She was up to something, he knew it, as he felt a smirk drawing on her playful little mouth. He sensed something powerful coming that was immensely alien to his understanding.

With her other arm she escaped his insistent grip and to the mighty gods and holy trinities, she bluntly and with no little shame shoved her hand between his legs and he could feel the spikes brushing only very gently on his pants. Evil conniving little - She immediately let go of his throat and pushed her hand over his mouth before he let out that one ferocious moan that was coming out. Teaching him a lesson not to mess with her. He looked quickly at the front – nobody saw them, Armand was listening to Varric's loud story and the others were still fully asleep and lying on the floor.

Fine, he learnt his lesson, his heart was beating out of his chest, his cheeks were blushing violently and his pants were pulsating, to say the least… but she wasn't done, was she? No, with Hawke there's always more if she can help it. She gave him a victorious and taunting smirk, letting her hand stay in place over his mouth. He pressed his eyes tightly shut as she started doing the same thing to him, only from his point of view – much, much better. Damned evil souls of the fucking demonic plague, she was good. Every touch sent electrical shocks and shivers down his spine that throbbed in his ribs and made his thigh muscles spasm. She bit progressively along his pointy ear and once she reached the top, she bit only gently, but all the more acutely. Oh, that was even bette- worse… why, why did he have to listen to that elf… Kaffas. She licked the length of his ear with only the wicked tip of her tongue while only faintly caressing his maxillary with the spikes of her gauntlet that was keeping him mute. Very well that she kept him that way, for a million desperate groans were trying to burst out of him. It was too much to bear.

She brutally let go of him in an instant, seeming yet unsatisfied, but landed very nonchalantly at the other end of the bench, grabbing her book back and placing her legs over the arousal in his pants. All that in just a second, as she looked at the front of the carriage and smiled, waving childishly at an unsuspecting and eyebrow-raising Varric, whose attention quickly got diverted by an all-knowingly Armand.

Hawke looked back at him and met a very troubled, tortured, almost dead enough gaze of Fenris. He eyed her with a throbbing shock in his everything, breathing quietly and killing her in his mind. She gave him another triumphant smirk and raised the front of her hand at him and bent every finger consecutively while leaving the middle one up in the air.

_Bitch._

_You snooze, you loose,_ Hawke retorted to him telepathically. _And don't do that again, yes?_

* * *

><p><strong>Nighttime, The Weyrs, Third Camp<strong>

Armand was a kind man. Fenris oversaw him talk something calmly with his secret lover to which the last one approved with a sigh and gestured assuringly that he wouldn't mind.

Meanwhile, he caught Hawke eyeing him with a questionable look from the other very close fire pit. It was either an 'I kill you' look or 'Please help and get me out of here' look, which could have easily been it for Varric and Isabela were making up a wild story about her and Armand being the 'Diabolical Duo Of The Macabre And Then Some'. He couldn't even tell anymore, but whatever it was, he ignored her completely and looked at the throbbing fire. It was slowly dying, so he interrupted their tale and said, "I need wood. Do you have any more wood?"

Hawke snorted heavily trying not to laugh with extremely lifted eyebrows. Isabela caught her drift and started giggling, too.

He frowned at her, for he didn't get it. "Do I really need to repeat myself?"

"Yes," Hawke said in-between suffocating. "What did you need? I think I misheard."

"I need wood," Fenris repeated syllabically with a colossal frown and Hawke burst into laughter.

He scowled angrily at her, for he lost his patience with her after everything that had happened and shouted, "Vishante kaffas, Hawke, why do you need to make everything so hard?"

At that, Hawke exploded from ferocious laughter and fell onto her back, holding onto her abdomen. Isabela and Varric were laughing, too and he didn't get what was all this mockery about.

He got up and cursed aggressively, which helped him tremendously not to go right at her and lift her up by the throat. "What's so incredibly funny, Hawke? Hm?"

"I'm sorry," Hawke said in-between panting and lying on the grass, "Did you need more wood to erect something?"

"Yes, Hawke, that's usually how it goes with –" he stopped and finally got it. He quickly spat on the ground and left, at which Armand sought to finish his conversation with Dorian early and follow him.

Fenris rushed in heavy fury, throwing curses growingly and disappearing somewhere after a set of trees. He stopped and stood in the summer heat and in the soft dust, breathing in the scent of the viciously hot wind he was more than accustomed to and peering towards the purple velvety sky, beyond which the road, now much neglected, gave forth its few persistent and sorrowful fire torches.

Why was he standing here?

Why did he stand alone in the shadows like a cowardly angry rat, waiting, as if for his grief to be redoubled, as if for his loneliness to be sharpened, so that he would become unemotional again, with his past fine-tuned senses of a beast?

Then gradually, the awareness stole over him, separating him totally from the melancholic surroundings he made so. He tangled in every portion of his being as his eyes saw that his mind desperately wanted to deny.

He sat aggressively on a piece of… wood, and rested his elbows on his knees, still cursing and swearing of every existing and invented holy god and trinity.

Armand himself seemed scarcely a moment before he joined him. Fenris looked towards the woods. The wind was strong. He wondered if this hurt her, what he was doing. For all he could fathom out, he measured her passion as he was looking into her eyes and it seemed just plainly more that than. Even in those maddeningly hot encounters – she touched him with distinctive warmth she could not deny, even he knew it. And how could she not – they spent two years forming a friendship, a certain intimacy that did not rush into anything sexual, well, until he started it all. And now he was ruining it. Perhaps he ought to it to bring her whatever, she was—his friend, his lover, his retarded ghost, his ridiculously beautiful clown mage —back to him, back to the warmth of his past, silent affection, back to his old sense of responsibility for her, back to friendly intimacy they once shared, before all hell broke loose.

Without looking at Armand, Fenris suspected that this strange elf did not leave the slave world behind him so effortlessly, perhaps even harder than he did? One could not just assume. But he did have all his memories of being a slave with him since his very childhood, whereas Fenris was still particularly young, a ridiculous freak-show of a new-born in plain filth and misery. He felt Armand's memories still festering within him – that this was not easy for him either to rememorize – yet he was disposed completely to believe him.

"It didn't go so well, no?" Armand finally said calmly as he approached him without fear.

Fenris looked up at him and eyed him murderously, having no fear for him now himself. "I should have never listened to you. You know nothing."

"I know a lot, but it can't work out from the first try, litl-… Fenris," Armand said firmly. "It's the same with diseases. You give a man a lousy plant, then when it doesn't work you give him another kind until the cure is found."

Fenris pressed his eyes tightly and growled through his teeth, "I wish I could be cured of this evil cancer."

Armand laughed hoarsely, "That evil cancer is moping around giving you glances whenever you're not looking, you big child," he pressed while gesturing towards the camp. "Just calm your tits and tell me what happened."

"What happened?" Fenris said mockingly. "I'll tell you what happened – I surprised her with your east – west idiotic strategy and she utterly and positively beat me at my own game. She made me her defenseless little desire puppet, all under her own command."

Armand frowned, "This is not slavery, if this is what you're mad about."

Fenris growled and looked at him aggressively, "Of course it's not, I'm not an idiot. What frustrates me is her defeating me at my every attempt. It's exhausting," he said and shook his head. "It's just…"

Armand sighed and sat down on the grass to have his eyesight in line with Fenris's. "You still are intent on having her?"

Fenris didn't answer, instead looking silently at the ground and scowling. Finally he said with a disapproving, self-loathing tone, "Yes."

"Remember what I said the other day?" Armand asked in a calm town which relaxed Fenris down.

"That she is broken," Fenris said bitterly. "Aren't we all?"

"This is not a love-broken thing. I don't know what it is, but holds a power over her, that much is clear to me."

"That's sheer nonsense," Fenris shouted angrily. "I will not hear of it." His face flushed with fury and denial.

Armand looked at him persistently, ignoring his misplaced anger, "Do you want her to get over her burdens?"

Fenris frowned colossally. He was impressed with himself, that he had not hesitated. "Of course I do. Probably just as much as she –" He stopped and pondered for a second, his eyebrows joining in a scowl. Apart from what Armand was implying, he made it no secret that he was a flight risk. For all his apparent loyalty to her, he seemed barely attached to Kirkwall and in her eyes, he could have left any minute if anything went wrong. Of course… and somehow it's the other way around.

Armand remained in polite silence, but finally sighed and pressed, "Have patience", he advised him. "You either provoke her until she breaks or you leave her alone and she will come to you. It's your choice. You already made yourself clear to her."

"This is ridiculous," Fenris said defensively. "What was in my head when I started all this? Where was my head?" he half-shouted in amazement at himself, seeming so impressed by his desperation that he needed a few seconds to sink it all in.

"If it's any consolation to you," Armand hastened to add, "I've seen the way she looks at you. Let alone the way she behaves around you. Her loyalty to you is without a doubt."

Fenris looked up at the perceptive little commanding Antivan and remained silent. He added, "I do not think she means to turn you down."

And with that he felt himself calm down almost entirely, sighing in relief for a second within himself. He saw his own blunder, and had to admit to himself that it wasn't deliberate. But, in a sick way – yet not outright ill-intentioned – he did wish to hurt her, there was no doubt of it. And this he had done. Either that or she really didn't give a damn about him and her nonchalance was genuinely pure.

Armand looked in different directions and finally added, "This wasn't pie for me either. Mind you, I was kind of like her in my particular situation. Being assaultive in my defenses, stealing kisses impulsively when I pleased and when I boiled too much. I grew tired of it quickly."

"How?" Fenris asked insistently.

Armand sighed and looked down, "I only knew lying and murder. And it was exactly the opposite of what I strived to be. I'm sure you can relate. I was also very … well, quiet and defensive, but when I opened my mouth – everything was in said in a tone of an insult. And when I met …" he paused and sighed, "him, I walked into a whole new place and one upon which I depended heavily for some sense of normality, no matter that it was a mere illusion, but then, perhaps normality is always an illusion. Who am I to say?" Armand said bitterly, then continued his patient explanation, "Anyway, I clung onto that familiar territory because it was safer. Tried to convince myself that what I was feeling was plain crap and I shouldn't fool myself. Even if he was standing right in front of me, under my nose, welcoming me, no questions asked."

"_How_," Fenris pressed, for he didn't answer his question.

Armand continued, "My point is – these familiarities, these childish defenses, however justified, perished like dust when I allowed myself a moment of… clarity. Like taking a breath and looking around – the feeling sank in- that I was free, that I was accepted. That I didn't need much, but I had what I needed. That nothing and no one else was like him and… it was just peace and calm in my, well, in my soul. Every other poison that was etched into it was being banished or terminated in those moments."

Fenris didn't answer, clinging to his silence as a sign for the Antivan to finish, for he still didn't make sense. "This is something both of you need to learn. I give you these words of wisdom now because you are so true in your intent, Fenris, but have you asked yourself if you're ready to take on this kind of commitment? Let go of your problems, allow yourself some happiness? In all honesty?" Armand asked. Fenris didn't answer this time either. "You're too busy being mad with thoughts of her, all the while being mad at her as well. Once you get rid of this childish competition acts, you two will see some reason. But it's not that hard. And even if only one or both of you make it so – it is worth it," Armand said calmly, this time looking straight into his eyes. His Antivan accent stung him with the truth, "Trust me."

That seemed to make perfect sense at the moment, perhaps only because he wanted it to make sense, so that neither of them would be deeply hurt by some more commanding truth. He couldn't be more envious of this elf, though, all the while being in awe of his kindness, his courtesy to reach out to him. It was still utterly ridiculous and revolting, but it helped.

Fenris had a dawning sense of how much delight awaited him. Never mind his dark past. He was still furious, but had some sense even then that anger renders one weak.

And his need of Hawke became so terrible that he could not envision her or think of her anymore. But still, he thought desperately, if this man Armand can preserve such kindness and patience, this strange liberty within him and with taking a lover – if love could bind him and prevent him from breaking apart, if his disparate provinces in his mind splintered by the cruelty of his past can be united by accepting love, and with that, freedom… If Armand cold keep back the barbaric sense in him, which only apparently, seemed would forever pillage his mind without building or preserving anything… who was he to judge, _I, who am outside of life?_


	8. La Regina Dei Dannati

Once they reached the outskirts of Rialto, right along the shores, they took a break and sank the scenery in. It was… different. Breath-taking, hauntingly beautiful, very rainy – at least the last one Hawke viciously enjoyed and thanked the gods for.

"So, you and your kinsmen? Are you a… happy lot?" Hawke asked sarcastically, demanding of Armand to finally admit to his business.

He gave her a soft gentle laugh, which scared her to bits, "Oh, yes, my kinsmen; some of them have met with the most unfortunate end. Indeed, it is my understanding that the Grand Council of Antiva City believes they were murdered by those from whom they exacted much heavy payments. One should never linger in Antiva City with such evil designs, not even if you are a Crow. It gives you a certain immunity, but not to your own."

"Now you talk _and _laugh?" Hawke asked in amazement. "Wake me up, this is clearly a Tuesday."

Armand was feeling particularly chatty today, "But I am blameless. Members of the Grand Council have told many a Crow as much. And you would not think it but I am going to become richer on account of this."

"So this is your business in helping out a _friend_? You're going back to your mother country which lurks over you like a jealous husband waiting to kill you at their doorstep … to get richer."

"No, it's not the coin that I'm interested in," Armand said sharply. "I would do it much less for nothing. Friendship and honour I hold very dear to me."

"You're happy?" Hawke asked perceptively.

"You do know much about me without asking do you not?" Armand said flatly.

"Oh, you have no idea," Hawke said with a gracious smile. "So about that answer you were supposed to give me."

"I am a happier man," he said almost softly, looking at the beach and the horizon that spread golden beams of searing light, refracting into the rain and forming rainbows as the they went, "Indeed, I am someone altogether different, for I know a freedom now that was inconceivable before."

"You're lying by using the truth," Hawke hastened with her remark. She gave him a firm look as he looked at her unyieldingly with the back of his eye, "Be wholly truthful, for the sake of it."

Armand didn't flinch, but bit his lip and sighed, "You know."

"Of course I know," Hawke said in outrage. "I'm no fool. You're taking Dory away from me."

"As if he was ever _yours,_" Armand said with a snort.

"Don't make haste with terrible preconceptions," Hawke said commandingly. "He's my friend. I'm sure you can relate to that, _and _more."

Armand was resting his elbows on the edge of the carriage while looking very annoyed and it was almost as if in all that calm and grumpiness, he would lash out at her at any second. "He deserves a better life. As his _friend, _you should let him go enjoy the chance."

Hawke smiled bitterly, "You have no idea – I mean, you do, but as a matter of speech, you have no idea how truly deserving he is to be happy and free of that brothel and Kirkwall altogether. Besides _you_, whenever that happened, I was his only delight once a week and I even struggled to spare some coin so I could see him, even if my back didn't ask for it urgently."

Armand inhaled deeply, "I know. He told me everything."

Hawke widened her eyes and her mouth opened faintly, but he continued, "Everything I needed to know, at least." She lifted her eyebrows in confusion and he sighed with a tilt to his head, "I get jealous," Armand confessed grumpily, scratching at his shoulder defensively.

She laughed softly, "That's terribly … well, it's not that surprising."

"I should not think otherwise," Armand agreed knightly. "You're a good woman, Hawke."

"It's purely coincidence," Hawke said sarcastically. "Honestly, I do things and then I come out looking quite the opposite of what I am."

Armand grimaced disapprovingly and shook his head faintly, "Don't give me that."

"Right, I forgot you have no sense of humor," Hawke said with a smirk.

"You just used the truth masked by an innocent jest," Armand retaliated perceptively. "You are too hard on yourself. It must be terribly exhausting."

"I try," Hawke said sarcastically. "I try and succeed, every time."

"Now that was pure sarcasm," Armand said with a short grin. Then he looked down and thought he owed a courtesy both to Dorian and to Fenris to take on this opportunity, "What of you and white hair boy?"

"What of us?" Hawke asked in confusion. "Don't tell me you placed a bet on us, too. You'll get even richer by the end of this trip with your obviously _keen _eye."

"You keep pushing away, it's exhausting even for me to watch," Armand said grumpily. "And I've been in your company just a week or so. Your friends there have been for years witnessing this child play."

"I have the great simplicity of a child," Hawke said proudly with a smile.

"And yet you don't use it when it's most useful," Armand retorted with his arms crossed. "I'm just curious how much it's going to take you before you implode."

"I get it," Hawke said perceptively. "You owe it to Dory to make one last amend for all the cruelty you've done under someone else's command, as a courtesy to a friend's friend. And then there's also the obvious fact that you were a slave and Fenris was a slave – and well, it all goes downhill from there…"

"So?" Armand asked nonchalantly. "Can't I help a lost soul out of sheer willingness?"

"You can and it's honourable," Hawke said approvingly.

"But you don't need much help, do you," Armand said with great perception. "No, why would you need any."

"Someone's being very psychoAnal today," Hawke said in amusement. "It's always like this with you strong and quiet men. Ask your question."

"What are you going to do?" Armand went straight to the point.

"I'll make peace with my business here and then I'll sort the other matters of the heart that can wait," Hawke said firmly. "Reasonable enough, no?"

"You're torturing the boy," Armand said with a subtle hint of compassion.

"I didn't ask for this. And regardless, he's doing the same thing to me, does he not?" Hawke pressed. "Well, certainly you had something to do with this, but even if you didn't, it would all be much the same."

"And you think this is healthy for your friendship?" Armand asked disapprovingly.

"It's unhealthy for us to even get involved," Hawke said with a bitter sigh. "But this won't go away. Unless, well, he goes away."

"You think he's going to flee," Armand declared flatly. "That it's too much."

"I think it's possible for him to flee from any other reason just as well," Hawke said calmly. "I know I would, if there was no family to be tied to, without having a constant responsibility for something."

"He's taking you as his responsibility. Is that not enough?" Armand gestured eagerly.

"He doesn't know what that implies," Hawke said with a mild sigh. "Believe me, I welcomed him with open arms. There was no judgement on my part for his seeming inadequacy, struggling to get accustomed with freedom – I even tried to help him, as subtly and wholeheartedly as I can. But how many shocks do you want to give a man in such a short time before he finds it overwhelming?"

"You two are clearly a bunch of overthinking fools," Armand said sharply.

"I'm sorry, can you account otherwise for _your _love story?" Hawke retorted straight below the belt.

Armand looked at her in hesitation. "Not really."

"I thought as much," Hawke said with a victorious smirk. "Well, at least you didn't flee."

"He is loyal to you. Take it from another former slave. He won't flee, even if things go wrong. He has already grown roots and a found a home with you people," Armand said perceptively.

"I know," Hawke said and inhaled deeply. "I mean I don't know. I just have a feeling."

"You have more feelings to account for, kid. What are you doing?" Armand asked almost desperately, but keeping a nonchalant tone.

"Well, let's see – for now, I'm going to Antiva and taking care of my business, assure my lifetime supply for cigarillos , and I'm not exaggerating for I don't think I'm going to live that long," Hawke said with a bitter smile. "And to the matter of what you're ever so graciously pressing on – we're friends. We started our friendship by constant barking and mocking and a lot of deep conversations. Now, because of recent events, we're basically doing the same thing, as in, attacking each other, but through different, more concrete means. And that doesn't really leave much space for the deep conversations which might involve the truth about all this."

"You are aware of this and yet you let it continue?" Armand asked in amazement.

"I don't want to," Hawke said while frowning. "I mean," she paused, "I didn't _predict_ the things that have happened. I only just now realized this. He'd taken me by surprise and I was certain that I was doing him a favour myself, because just as much as I, he wasn't really ready to face this issue."

"So?" Armand said with a scowl.

"So – as I keep repeating – taking care of business first, resolving matters of the heart later. Romances that start on a trip never end well. I'm not an idiot."

"You are, but, the good kind," Armand said more to himself, remaining honestly impressed. "Be good to him."

Hawke smiled at him, "I will – but only if you promise on Dorian's firm little butt that you won't whisper any of this to your new friend."

Armand frowned at her and she lifted her eyebrows in confident waiting. "Fine."

"No, no – you have to solemnly promise with the whole phrase."

He rolled his eyes, "I solemnly promise on..." he paused and gave her a homicidal look, "Dorian's firm little but that this conversation doesn't leave this line in the sand." He drew a line with his foot to make it more graphic.

"Thank you," Hawke said and smiled. "For both stuff."

"My pleasure, apparently," Armand sighed through his teeth.

"Now, I wanna sodding swim!" Hawke shouted cockily and ran towards the others who were setting camp.

Armand shook his head and sighed. She was just like Dorian had told him she was. He was impressed, but it looked funny to him how those two decided to approach this. It reminded him of how terribly clumsy he used to be. After saving Martin from drowning they both came to Kirkwall and set up shop and took mercenary jobs. He was already used to humans and free cities, but that didn't help him at all, from his point of view.

* * *

><p>One day he felt himself desperate and accepted a noble wife's job to follow her husband wherever he went. Of course, the job was beneath him, but the pay was heavy and he swallowed his pride and took it. It wasn't anything demeaning for him; more for the man he was following.<p>

And just when this man seemed the best of saints, he ended up in the Blooming Rose. He tried to blend in, sit at a table and wait for the man to finish his betrayal, when an annoyingly cocky voice from behind came, "My, never in my whole life have I seen someone so stoic sitting in a brothel."

Of course, he deflected, told him to avert his eyes for he wasn't interested in him. Dorian was unimpressed and assured him he wouldn't take him even if he paid for the premium package. Then all hell broke loose. He had never allowed himself to fight uselessly with somebody just for the sake of it. There were just so many words in the world one could waste. But then he found himself debating and arguing with this elf from the subject of prostitution to every other depth of life and he pushed him away thereafter.

Oh, such idiocy on his part, even he saw that the elf didn't care for his assaultive attitude. He welcomed his remarks and practically wasted his time on duty to talk to him until the Madam bitched at both of them to either pay and get a room or go back to their separate business.

And a few months passed until Armand found himself in a terrible need of something. He thought to himself – what an idiot he was, being mad with thoughts of going to the brothel to pay for a room just to hear that delightful unperturbed voice of Dorian letting him bitch away in a way he had never let loose before, when he suddenly turned into a verbal and illustrative dictionary of the common tongue. So many words he spoke.

He thought – what a terrible waste of life to have such a bright mind encaged in a dead-end and unworthy profession. He quickly let those thoughts go until one night he had to meet with an employer that demanded the Rose as a rendezvous place. He almost seemed like a child excited to go to the circus, but controlled himself and cursed at himself on the way.

As the Rivaini woman, Isabela, was vaguely explaining that she needed a relic tracked down, his eye wondered curiously in hopes he would see that elf again. He heard his name demanded by a massive and grumpy man from the Madam. He also heard something about a package of horror or sadism. "Hey, are you even listening? My eyes are over here," Isabela said angrily, but he was distracted. His eye went straight for the rooms and saw Dorian coming out and recognizing the massive beast who was climbing the stairs. The elf seemed perfectly unperturbed by anything that came to him, except now he saw genuine fear in his eyes, a heavy swallow and his legs trembling.

After a while he couldn't take it, he felt himself driven to barge in over there. Why? Even now he can't answer. But it was good that he did, because the man was about to outright kill him. Dorian was screaming from pain and couldn't take the torture anymore. He closed the door and told the man calmly that he could choose to walk away forever or he ends up on the torture cross with his head sawn to his crotch. The man believed him some kind of brothel guard and let it go – which was good. That he didn't cause a scene. Armand would have been banned from the Rose otherwise.

But of course, Dorian lashed out at him that he didn't need a guardian angel, that he lost him a very good paying client, that he could take all of it. And he found himself telling him that he didn't have to take this terrible filth to make a living. Oh, his speech was so long and true and Dorian was so unimpressed. More was he himself impressed by his sudden outburst of emotion and his need to lecture this elf that this was no life.

Bah, what is in his head. He didn't know. Dorian frightened him, for some reason. He was so determined to stand his ground that he felt guilty for prying. He told him he would take that good paying client's place and make up for the difference. Dorian laughed at him with tears, "_You?_ You have a terrible sense of honour, serah and I very much want to just appreciate it, but you're way out of your mind and your budget."

Armand just smirked at him arrogantly and assured him it was his wish and he couldn't argue over it. He ignored the ridiculousness of the situation, why he would even do that, and kept paying for the elf. Of course, he needed to actually be _there_, which he took advantage of, much for Dorian's annoyance. He had to waste an hour of his life doing things he wasn't supposed to be paid for. Armand had no interest in abusing of _that _service. That only made things worse, until became much better and Dorian admitted he found a friend in him, much to his surprise.

And everything seemed fine and distracting until finally, he _did _take advantage of his rights… and all hell broke loose. His touch, his smile, this whole fantasy life he had built up in his mind and progressed to something even more powerful… it was too much.

He laughed at himself now. Such a raging stupid coward he became. It took him a very long time to understand what he felt and that this was nothing, if not a real paradise that he had to accept he deserved. But until that time, it was hauntingly painful.

For everything Armand put him through, he couldn't help but try to make an honourable amend and give up his fears for the North and take him out of that Maker forsaken brothel and excuse of a free city. Once they reached Antiva and he helped his friend, everything was about Dorian, who would follow him to the Dark City itself if he had to; this he knew for certain and he couldn't be more grateful for it. So he would give him the life he deserved.

* * *

><p>As he reminisced, he watched Hawke arguing with Fenris about something, then she ran straight to the sea and Fenris kept watching her insistently as she went. Armand could recognize that drive anywhere. It was much like…- <em>Oh you big clever bitch. <em>

He shook his head and remained impressed – Hawke really was the smart little prick Dorian couldn't stop talking about (which made him jealous to bits for a while).

If she didn't oppose Fenris with such resistance - even if that brutal territory was just familiarity for her and him alike - if Hawke had been open with her desire for him and welcomed him directly – Fenris would run away from her and see it as too much for him. Even if she wasn't aware of this smart move, he thought what a clever way to distract Fenris from his anxiety and feelings of unworthiness. She opened up a new world for him, made him comfortable within it, then when "all hell broke loose", she kept him hanging and driven, making use of a man's natural and primitive instinct to chase after what he wanted. In doing so, she indirectly made him explore these feelings in another, much clearer perspective. He wouldn't get corrupted by the fears of his past, because he was too busy questioning why he couldn't get her and why he wanted her so badly. In this way, he made him become honest with himself about what stormed in his soul, instead of having her run after him and overwhelm him. Of course he would back away and hurt her.

How could he not see this? This was exactly what Dorian did to him. Whatever Hawke was doing and regardless of whether she was aware of it or not – it was good.

"Preparing for the Statue Look Alike International Competitions again, love?" Dorian said with the delightful familiar smile as he approached him.

Armand felt himself not caring for the others in the distance and put a hand over Dorian's shoulder protectively and took him gently by the chin, kissing him powerfully. Then as he brushed his hair, he gave him a piercing and only apparently, sorrowful look.

"What was that for? What's wrong?" Dorian asked in surprise.

Armand kept wondering with his eyes all over his figure and finally exhaled, "Just saying thank you, for everything."

Dorian raised an eyebrow and gave him a crooked smile, "I can think of other ways for you to _thank _me, you big choleric lunatic."

"Get in the carriage," Armand commanded sharply with a decisive look.

* * *

><p><strong>Meanwhile at the short camp…<strong>

"Maybe you should grow wings. As far as I can tell, that's the only thing that would make you stop seeing _everything _as danger," Hawke said in annoyance to Fenris.

"I can't simply deny what is real," Fenris said grumpily and then mocked her Qunari-infused philosophies, "I can't simply not _be._"

Hawke raised an eyebrow, seeming unimpressed and mocked him back, "Parshaara."

"I'm not saying it's sharks, but," Fenris said with a grin, "but it's sharks."

"Well, suit yourself," Hawke said cockily and shrugged. "I'm going in regardless. Might as well ride a shark, if I won't get to ride a dragon anytime soon."

"Happy dying out there," Fenris said nonchalantly without looking at her.

But he kept his look on her when she had her back turned as always. She ran to the sea and stopped in the shallow waters and his heart kept throbbing in his chest at the fear that she would recklessly put herself in danger if she went in entirely.

To his surprise, she only stood there for a few minutes and let the golden landscape sink in, then came back to them and said, "Alright, I've got about enough of this. I never liked the sea."

"Give me a few minutes here," Varric said in annoyance. "Bianca's cocking ring is off."

Hawke snorted. "Her what? You had me at cock-"

"So help me, I'll shoot you in the nose, Hawke," Varric said angrily. "From one Bianca to another."

"I keep forgetting how much of an angry lunatic you become when fondling her," Hawke said calmly and shook her head.

"Never mess with a man in love," Isabela said approvingly.

"That's bullshit," Hawke retorted with a raised eyebrow. "As if that's the only worthy reason to get off your lazy ass and fight."

"I didn't say it was _worthy_," Isabela chuckled. "At best it's endearing – and I'm sugar coating it."

"Speak of it for what it is," Hawke said firmly. "Foolish."

"That's still sugar coating it," Isabela said with a smirk. "But enough, I'm feeling sick with such thoughts and we're by the _sea_. That's terribly confusing and embarrassing."

"Poor Izzy," Hawke said mockingly. "Got too used to the earth?"

"Shush, Hawke," Isabela said a bit sharply.

"Never mess with a woman in love?" Hawke said in amusement, looking at her and Varric. "Aw, you two are adorable."

"Cut it out," Isabela said angrily. "You're no better."

Hawke crossed her arms with a smirk, "Is there something you want to get off your chest, Bela?"

Isabela assumed a threatening pose, "As a matter of fact, yes –"

"I did it! Oh, baby you had me so scared," Varric shouted, interrupting her. "Now we're good to go."

"Finally," Fenris said grumpily, cursing at the dwarf in his mind that he didn't let Isabela assault Hawke.

* * *

><p><strong>Sunset, Antiva City<strong>

As Hawke glanced for a second at the city they just entered, she remembered her Father's words:

"Yes, Antiva City… that city drew me so. It was a fairly new city, in that it had not existed in the ancient times and it was now a great port. In fact, it was very likely the greatest city of all the North. I remember it well; the Black Death had come to it by way of ships in its harbor, and thousands were desperately sick at that time. The first time I was there, I found a city full of gorgeous palaces built upon dark green canals. But the Black Death had ahold of the populace who were dying in huge numbers daily and ferries were taking the bodies out to be buried deeply in the soil of the islands in the city's immense lagoon.

Everywhere there was weeping and desolation, among elves and humans alike. People gathered together to die in sickhouses, faces covered in sweat, bodies tormented by incurable swellings. The stench of the dead rose everywhere. Some were trying to flee the city and its infestation. Others remained with their suffering loved ones.

Never had I seen such plague. And yet it was amid a city of such remarkable splendor, I found myself numb with sorrow and tantalized by the beauty of the palaces and by the wonder of the San Giustinia Cathedral which bore exquisite testament to the city's ties with Andrastianism. I could do nothing but weep in such a place. It was no time for peering by the torchlight at paintings or statues that were wholly new to me. I had to depart, out of respect for the dying, no matter what I was.

But the second time I came, the plague had been abolished and indeed I wondered the palaces and chantries throughout Antiva, quite taken aback and amazed at its beauty and its warming radiance."

* * *

><p>Yes, it was the gorgeous and glittering city of Antiva, which drew them with its indescribably majestic palaces, their windows open to the contestant breezes of the Amaranthine Ocean, and its dark winding canals. One part of the city, as Armand said, was basically built over the water and there were narrow, banana-looking boats called gondolas which were used to travel the districts.<p>

This was the part of the city at which they arrived, quite beaten and tired. "So where to now?" Varric asked eagerly.

"The inn where I recommended staying is quite pricey, but I do not think that's a problem for you, no?" Armand started. "Well, that's if you do not mind that it is in the same district near a luxurious brothel."

"So it's pretty much exactly like where I live," Hawke said grumpily, remembering how the Red Lantern District was exactly by her house.

"I don't mind at all," Isabela said with a grin. "I think that's where you'll find me for most of this trip."

"So long as you don't needlessly press to take me with you, I approve," Hawke said in amusement. "So Antivans are much the same as Free Marchers… they harbor luxury whorehouses just in the same "sunny side" of the city without as much as a fit of shame."

"Yes it's much like the Rose in Hightown," Armand said with a snort of disgust. "Let us leave then."

Hailing a gondola at the quais they were in, they traveled the canals for hours looking up at the spectacular facades which made up the waterways of la Città di Antiva, as its countrymen called it. Hawke listened to the voices everywhere across the wonderful architecture of the streets and found herself immersed in the scenery. She thanked the gods there was not even the slightest sight of a Templar nearby. Fenris lay back sometimes on his elbow and gazed up at the stars, quite drunken on what he beheld. As his eye would wonder back at the gondola, he'd catch Hawke stealing glimpses of him before she would look away with nonchalance.

When they arrived in the district Armand sought to guide them to, the brothel shimmered with light from inside and curious violin music resounded in the street. "

Oh my," Hawke said grumpily. "I won't get any sleep, will I?"

"The Bone Pit is famous for its loud continuity. The capital itself is known as the _city that never sleeps,_" Armand said a bit mockingly.

"The _what?_" Hawke asked in terror and everybody looked at him curiously.

"The Bone Pit," Armand repeated. "Oh, because it's the same with the mine back in Kirkwall. Yes, I found that coincidence rather appalling myself."

Hawke sighed and shook her head, "Will wonders never cease."

"That's what I keep saying," Fenris intervened bitterly."I think it's because I often say this that it keeps happening," he smirked and shook his head, "Foolish mistake."

"You're the reason this keeps happening to me?" Hawke asked in a mocking pretense and gestured, "Begone foul creature!"

Fenris lifted his eyebrows in a deliberate unimpressed grimace, "You will soon come to regret what you ask of me."

"I will, won't I?" Hawke said in amusement. "Well, let's go in then." Fenris nodded, "Yes, let's get this over with before I fall asleep." Isabela snorted quickly, "That's what she said."

When they entered, Hawke was filled with a sudden disgust and fascination at the same time. And this was largely because she had fallen in love with this particular "little palazzo" as Armand called it, an inn of great beauty, its façade covered in glistering marble tiles, its arches in the Northern style, and its immense rooms more luxurious than anything she had ever beheld in all her nights and days. The lofty ceilings amazed her. They had known nothing like them in Ferelden, at least not in a private house. And on top of the immense roof was a carefully arranged roof garden from which one could view the sea.

"You sure we can afford this?" Varric asked awkwardly. "Not that I don't _really _like it here, but- "

"This is all on me," Hawke quickly said with a smile. "Don't worry about it."

"That's very generous of you," Fenris said with a short frown.

"That's me," Hawke said mockingly. "An endless fountain of joy for the damned ones."

Fenris snorted and shook his head, "Poor you. Queen of the Damned."

"I wouldn't take it that far," Hawke said firmly. "But I like the name, it certainly has a macabre ring to it."

"Don't let it go over your head," Fenris said calmly.

After Hawke generously paid for all their rooms and Varric kept insisting that he should chip in and after many failed but annoying attempts, Hawke finally gave in to his request, they each went to their separate rooms. Hawke told them motherly not to go out without letting her know first, but other than, they were free to do anything they liked until such a time when she chose to basically summon them for whatever mysterious thing she had to do in the city. Armand thanked her and told her he would abuse of her generosity, only so because that was Dorian's wish, until his own business was done.

* * *

><p><strong>Sunset, Via <strong>**della Libertà**

They went by a sort of restaurant open in the street near where they were staying, by the so called bridge Ponte della Libertà. It was covered by red velvet curtains and the chairs and tables were particularly white and fancy. Men were playing their traditional instruments, flutes, guitars and other ones Hawke couldn't name. The songs were all Antivan and hauntingly beautiful, the words she didn't understand, but they were filled with a sort of love for everything and everyone. The chairs and curtains that drew contour to the territory of the restaurant on the street were filled with perfume and it started raining again. The romantic scenery made Hawke feel like throwing up, to say the least.

Varric abused much of his pocket to buy all the coffee and wine from this place, which wasn't really a bad thing. He gave everyone cigarillos, which they happily lit, except for Armand and Fenris who politely refused.

"So what _are _we doing here, really?" Isabela asked in boredom.

Hawke lit her cigarillo nonchalantly and Isabela pressed, "Hawke."

"All in good time," Hawke said confidently, without looking at her. "All in good time."

"That's more vague than Fen's face," Isabela said in annoyance. "Don't worry, FenFen, you're still pretty."

Fenris frowned, "Stop calling me that. My name is Fenris."

"So you keep reminding me," Isabela said nonchalantly. "And so I keep not caring."

"How come I don't get a nickname?" Hawke intervened curiously.

"Well… it's kind of hard to cripple a name which already sounds like it's being spelled backwards," Isabela said in amusement. "I mean Hildegaard… Maker, where do I even start?"

"From the beginning, if it's not too much for your little brain," Hawke chuckled.

"Maybe I can just spell it backwards again? Dra—Draage-"

"Draagedlih," Fenris saved her time.

"Oh Maker my tongue would swirl and suffocate on itself if I pronounce that," Varric said in amusement.

"Stop making fun of my name," Hawke demanded firmly.

"Or better yet, Bianca," Isabela said with a grin and took Hawke by the shoulder. "Dear sweet Bianca, my undying love for you with no sheer equal in this whole blasted world – except for Varric's crossbow."

Hawke rolled her eyes and shoved Isabela's arm away, "My name is Hawke. Deal with it."

"That's also open to a lot of jokes," Varric said in amusement. "Little mockingbird, you."

Fenris laughed softly at how the two rogues tried to mock her with cheesiness.

"Ok, I regret it now. Go back to Fenris's name crippling please," Hawke said desperately.

"No, no," Fenris said quickly with a smirk. "I'd much rather press on making mockery of your three names. Mine is just the one and it's so lonely here, being made the target of all jokes."

"Then maybe you should change it," Hawke said grumpily. "By the way, how's the face-changing going?"

"Much as before," Fenris said nonchalantly, taking a sip of his wine. "Its process quite delayed by my undying compassion of not making you feel like you're the only grotesque figure in this world."

"My, I'm quite taken aback by this _honest _act of mercy," Hawke said mockingly. "Your deeds will not go unobserved, Sir."

"I'm sure I can think of many ways for you to thank me," Fenris deliberately implied with an evil grin. He was taken by the wine and forgot about the company they were in. "Very many in fact."

Hawke caught on his subtlety and frowned, "You can go _thank _yourself."

_Ouch, _Varric thought. _This is painful. Hawke, what the hell are you doing…_

"So Hawke, how's the cigarillo? I made a good choice, didn't I?" Varric saved it quickly.

"It's quite heavy and a bit too sweet for my taste, but it does the trick," Hawke said with a smile.

Fenris became awfully annoyed at her and grumpily drank his wine in silence. Would it not for their company, he was sure he'd _thank _her right there, as resentful and frustrating as she was. Even with her chainmal robes and pants she stubbornly, much like he, clung onto in a part of a city which seemed perfectly safe, her hair up in a ponytail as always - she looked so primitively beautiful and viciously delicious, now that he caught a taste of those wicked lips. Her constant need to put him down wasn't really tiring, as much as now – he admitted – was quite enthralling, because he knew she would soon break. Especially in a place like this, the capital of love. She might not be impressed by such idiocies, he wasn't either, but much here than in Kirkwall, her guard was down. Then he noticed Isabela eyeing him insistently.

"You keep starting at me. Is it my eyes again?" he asked Isabela nonchalantly.

"You're very lanky, for an elf. I like lanky," Isabela replied happily.

"From what I gather, you like a lot of things," Fenris said flatly.

Isabela smiled. "Nonsense. But you can't blame me for going after something I like when I see it."

"I suggest keeping your distance," Fenris said instinctively, quite impressed at himself. He noticed Hawke looking at them as she talked to Varric.

"Now you're just making it more challenging," Isabela said while shaking her head.

In fact, why shouldn't he make use of a stratagem now? The wine made him think dark thoughts and as maddened as he was now, he thought he could try something. However stupid it may seem.

"Do you intend to go after me, then?" Fenris asked with a piercing look.

He didn't know if Isabela caught his stunt, but she replied with a grin, "Will you take off that spiky armor you're wearing?"

"It's been known to happen," Fenris said nonchalantly, subtly looking at Hawke, who got him out of it without even really trying, in the Deep Roads, at his house, in the woods… No, he had to concentrate.

"Then forget it," Isabela said firmly, leaning backwards in her chair with nonchalance.

Fenris hesitated, being tricked by her, but strove to press, "If you indeed want a challenge, it can stay on."

Isabela grinned and raised an eyebrow, "Now we're tal-"

He turned his head quickly at the sound of a chair creaking against the ground. Hawke left the table with her cigarillo still on her and walked away in the street.

"Where's she going?" Isabela asked in confusion.

"Beats me," Varric said with a frown. "She said she'll be right back."

* * *

><p><strong>A few minutes later, Via di Farfalle (Butterflies Street)<strong>

Hawke sat down on a secluded fountain just at the end of that street, its walls full of green ivy and blue flowers, which were probably the reason why the street was called Butterfly, for they resembled them greatly.

She thought, who would love such a place? A place that managed far greater even than Kirkwall to mask the cruelty and horrors that were taking place at the behest of the Crown, the Crows and other such guilds, if those were even allowed to exist by the latter.

For the color of the evening sky over the piazza that you see when you are first risen? For the domes of the churches beneath the moon? For the color of the canals that only poets and painters could appreciate in the starlight? One should be a wicked and greedy creature to love this place so ignorantly.

And then she was deflecting… The real maddening thought in her head was Fenris so bluntly flirting with Isabela as if she wasn't there. It didn't matter if he was doing it on purpose – she was certain he was doing it on purpose – because even the thought of it made her extremely, mind-breakingly jealous. She lifted her eyebrows and shook her head, remaining impressed by herself for a few seconds, at just how much of an idiot she probably looked. She took a long drag from her cigarillo. _Oh, Hawke… who would have thought you are the jealous type._

"Dear sweet, badass little Bianca," a delightful voice came from behind and she flinched. Varric was this voice's possessor and he went by the fountain and sat next to her.

She chuckled. "Feeling cheesy tonight are we?" Hawke asked in amusement.

"What can I say, I'm feeling quite emotional," Varric said charmingly. "We're in the capital of love, after all."

"But you called me Bianca," Hawke said with a scowl. "I thought you would never use that name for anyone else. That's what you said, if I recall correctly."

"If you haven't noticed by now, I tend to lie a lot," Varric said with an evil grin. "Plus, compassion is free from my point of view, but respect has to be earned. Calling you Bianca is a testament to that."

"You're scaring me, Varric," Hawke said with raised eyebrows. "Go back to the dirty, badass vocabulary right this instant, I beg you."

"Oh, pshht. Let a man be drunk," Varric said grumpily, then leaned backwards towards the water of the fountain. "Drunk with loooove."

Hawke caught his back so he wouldn't fall. "Maybe a bit _too _drunk."

Varric chuckled, "Oh, I earned it. Tenfold."

"Can you count to ten?" Hawke asked warmly as she held him by the shoulders and let him rest against her chest.

Varric raised six fingers consecutively, then grew frustrated and gave up, "Ah, who needs counting when you have the golden tongue of a storyteller and a beautiful woman by your side to save your ass whenever you're in trouble."

"By beautiful woman you mean your Bianca," Hawke said in amusement.

"Okay, _women_, sorry," Varric said charmingly. "And sorry for being drunk."

"Like you said, you've earned it," Hawke said happily and stroked his hair. "You look like a honeybear dipped in caramel and joys of all joys."

"And you look like an idiot," Varric said a bit sharply. "What the hell are you doing, Hawke?"

"I'm uh," Hawke said in confusion, "Okay, sorry, I won't stroke your hair any longer. Wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea, Mr. Drunken McFattso."

"No, not that," Varric said angrily. "But you can keep doing that. It feels nice."

"Then what?" Hawke asked in concern.

"You and Broody," Varric said grumpily. "You're making me cry just by looking at you."

"All in good time," Hawke said confidently. "All in good time."

"So you keep saying," Varric said in annoyance. "Look, just promise… just for the sake of me being drunk and not remembering this by morning… I'll say this only once and then I'll firmly deny having ever made such statement," he paused for a second, "Don't hurt my friend."

Hawke lifted her eyebrows and widened her eyes, then sighed and looked at the piazza in the distance. "I promise I will not."

"Good," Varric said while swaying his head in dizziness. "Of course, I had the same talk with him. So my work here is _done. _I won't press on it any longer."

"You did _what_?" Hawke asked in terror and pushed him away from her chest.

Varric chuckled warmly, "I'm just shitting you." He went back to lean on her. "You should've seen the look on your face."

"Please don't interfere in this, as much as I know it's a compulsion of yours I can't cure," Hawke said pleadingly. "I need to do this on my own."

"I know," Varric said sweetly. "Might I suggest though to keep it in your pants for the time being. Nothing good ever happens from starting something on a trip. That is… if you haven't already."

Hawke swallowed heavily and said, "No, not exactly."

"So you _did _start something," Varric said drunkenly. "And you haven't told _me._ I'm hurt, Hawke."

"You won't remember this anyway," Hawke said with an evil grin. "So I'm safe."

"You're such a bitch," Varric said warmly.

"It's hard to do anything when you're around," Hawke said with a double meaning, then tickled Varric ruthlessly, "How can I do anything when I can't keep my hands off you, you big drunken honeybear."

"Aw, I'm moved," Varric said sweetly in-between laughing. "But I'm spoken for."

"Yeah," Hawke said and rolled her eyes. "So you keep saying."

Varric chuckled and sighed, looking in the distance, "Don't cry, Hawke. You'll always be my secret mistress."

Hawke snorted and burst into laughter, "My, you're such a gentlemen."

"I'm a _perfect _gentleman," Varric said confidently, "in public."

"Oh my," Hawke said with lifted eyebrows, then looked in the distance too. "Thanks, by the way. For coming after me and sweetly trying to cheer me up."

"That's what I'm here for," Varric said charmingly. "And now you can express your gratitude by walking me back to the restaurant. In one piece, if it's not too much to ask."

"I got your back, Tethras," Hawke said confidently and rose from the fountain, taking Varric by the hand and dragging him up.

* * *

><p><strong>A few hours later<strong>

Everyone went to sleep for all she knew, but she kept fretting and scowling in her sheets and grew tired of counting sheep. She was very drunk at that point. She went out of the building and sat on the edge of a great fountain nearby. The night was deeply purple and the streets were still roaming with people.

"I really need a break," she said out loud bitterly, looking down and holding onto her knees.

After a few moments, she heard Fenris coming by the fountain. "There you are," he said with a controlled tone as not to express his concern, "You know you're a hypocrite, I hope?"

"I'm the leader, I can go out whenever I please," Hawke said nonchalantly.

"My, and such a modest leader we have," Fenris said mockingly. He hesitated to ask her politely to sit down, but she gestured towards the edge for him to join her.

"You chose me, it's your problem, not mine," Hawke said confidently, but pertaining to different meanings on the way.

"Yes, indeed, why did I choose you?" Fenris asked himself out loud, without fear for her response, as he was deeply drunk himself.

"You asked for this, did you not?" Hawke responded, her voice cool, brushing her arm in defense. She was trembling. How deeply she … and how she didn't want him to know.

"Oh, yes," Fenris responded in a small, calm voice, "Indeed I did ask for this, but then before how many a taste of you, was it?" He paused, then continued. "You chose this much the same." Hawke looked down and flinched in defense. "Why did you choose me for those kisses, hm?"

"Because I wanted to," she said without further ado.

Fenris shook his head. "There's more to it."

"Then be my teacher," Hawke said angrily, looking at him.

Fenris sighed, "There's a bitter cold in me," he said, "a cold which comes from a distant land. And nothing really makes it warm. Even Kirkwall did not make it warm. You knew of this cold. You tried a thousand times to melt it, and transform it into something more brilliant, but you only think you never succeeded," he said honestly, then looked at her with a piercing look. She looked sorrowful and breathed hard. He continued while firmly looking away, "And then one day when I came near death – no was, in fact, dying – you counted upon that cold to give me stamina for fighting it," he said nostalgically, remembering the healing in the Deep Roads.

Hawke nodded and looked away, but Fenris put a hand on her shoulder. "Look at me, please," he said calmly. "Isn't it so?" His face was serene.

"Yes," she said, "it is so."

"And you made use of the powers you despised to help me. Without much further question, you helped me all over again in many other ways once you came back," he said calmly, remembering everything she did for him, starting with her concern for the mess in his mansion to teaching him to read and write.

Hawke nodded again in silence, striving so stubbornly not to look at him.

Fenris pressed his lips and squeezed her shoulder gently. "Why do you shrink from me when I ask this question?" Fenris pressed calmly.

"Fenris…" she said, speaking firmly, "Is this a curse, what I am?"

"No," Fenris answered quickly, much to her honest surprise.

"Think on it before you answer," Hawke pressed bitterly. "It is a curse."

"No," he said again.

"Will wonders never cease," Hawke said in bitter amusement. "You think of me higher than myself for what I am, and you of all people."

"I'm full of surprises, am I not?" Fenris said with an amused grin. "Maybe it is high time that I be your teacher now."

Hawke lifted her eyebrows in mockery, "Sure, have at it. I'm getting tired of my position already. It requires so much mastery over one's patience."

"I've noticed," Fenris said firmly.

"Do you Fenris? Have patience, I mean," Hawke asked honestly, sighing to no end.

Fenris looked at her sorrowfully, for the struggles in her mind proved to be much greater than he had thought. He said with a deep and firm voice, "For you, I will find the patience."

Hawke inhaled deeply and finally looked at him, "Then cease with your questions. Don't seek to anger me or embitter me further."

Fenris chuckled warmly, "I will do so, if you cease with pushing me away. Let me teach you what I have to teach."

Hawke had lost her little battle and sighed angrily at him, looking more like a child than she usually did. She curled her legs beneath her, sitting there motionless on the edge of the fountain, with Fenris still holding on her shoulder with no fear for her predictable resistances.

"Teach away then," she said in annoyance.

"Not tonight," Fenris said calmly with a warm, short smile. He dragged her closer to him and forced her to rest her head on his chest. She sought to resist instinctively, but gave in when Fenris brushed the hair on top of her head gently. "Tonight I'll just steal you away and savor this moment."

* * *

><p><strong>Xoxo, Gossip Tethras.<strong>


	9. Death, Lament & Traitor's Tour-De-Force

I WANT to start with the beginning, but I- I CAN'T.

H. B. Hawke here and I have a story to tell you of what happened to me.

Yes, yes, I know, I'm barging in, but I'm deeply besotted again and I can't help it! The writer of this story thinks too highly of me and I have to intervene. I'm too much in a dark frame of mind right now and I have to press that I'm but a vagabond mage roaming the earth covered in so much dust of my eternal stoicism in public, Templars hardly notice me anymore.

I strive for good far and wide, but there's more to it to the tale than you think. My name is once again thirst, baby and I must have you! All in good time, Fenris. I did not forget about you in this tale.

Not bad, you might think, but I loathe it. Without doubt, I was grieving for something I did not even know I had lost – maybe my old self in Lothering? I cannot tell. The senseless little brat queen from Lothering, now a newly born revenant once determined to be good at being bad if that was her predicament, much to be contradictory in itself.

I'm not a pragmatist, mind you. I have a keen and merciless conscience, so cruel that it is in fact, much too kind and patient sometimes. But I'm still bad to the bone. Ah, I could have been a nice girl. Maybe at times I am. But always, I've been a woman of action. Grief is a waste, angers renders one much too weak right on the verge of being swallowed by the flame, and so does and is fear. And action is what you will get here, as soon as I get through this introduction.

Alas, I have to do things my own way. And we will get to the beginning – if that isn't contradiction in terms – I promise you. I'll take care of you this chapter until the author figures out I'm ruthlessly and greedily stealing you away from her and her fine words that have no shame in penetrating others' thoughts and visions to give you and me an explanation for what has been happening.

Mages don't really like others of their kind, though their need for such companions is desperate.

… Where was I going with this? Ah, yes, the beginning.

Nah… I'm a fatalist right now, I'm much too energized and deeply deranged to bits to acquiesce to your request.

I will start with THE END.

_And they lived happily ever after, once they fled Kirkwall._

No, that's not the right end… wait. Give me a second. _GIVE ME_. A. SECOND.

Oh right, so I woke up in this brothel…

* * *

><p>"Tonight I'll just steal you away and savor this moment."<p>

No, this wasn't how it happened. What? No. This was after the sudden tragedy that occurred a day before. My timing was wrong? Did I dream all of it? This must be something else. My head… oh, for all the wine in the world, this is painful. Flashes, just so many flashes, and my head bumping into some pillow, eyes tightly shut then opening again to be brutally smashed by the candle lights.

Wait… something, something about an Antivan elf. Not Armand. No, an Antivan human. Or both.

Oh, the brutal light of nightly dawn, it refreshed my sight and memory. A young, boyish little elf utterly intoxicated with my delightful drunken company and the many wonders of me which I did not allow him. Naturally, he found me a beautiful woman. Didn't everyone? I jest, of course. He was not all that ugly himself. Dark-skinned and green-eyed, with blonde to almost glisteningly white soft hair. It reminded me of someone, I wonder who. Even his lanky arms had a certain prettiness to them, especially given his outrageous hair.

No… he didn't _really _look like him. But I figured in my black out I sought out some resembling dollface much less difficult and overwhelming than Fenris, who was in my thoughts always, even now, as I struggled to remember how I got here. I wondered where he was and how in the Void he did not come to find me.

WHAT happened?

It was not all bad. I'm certain we didn't do anything. I remember now; he recited poems to me in Antivan with great charm. After an hour or two of only pretending to be a vanquishing brute, he had let on that he wanted to take me. I politely refused in my drunkenness and told him to keep his distance on the edge of the bed.

"Why not?" the white-haired beautiful elf repeated, with such boyish drive for adventure.

"Because I am quite spoken for, sadly," I said in amusement, thinking just how loyal I remained even in my black out, as it seems.

"Nonsense," he pressed. "You are nobody's."

"But you want me to be yours, do you not?" I played nonchalantly, placing my hands under my head with great ease.

"Does he want you to be wholly his as I do now?" he demanded sharply.

"The fuck should I know," I said and chuckled.

"So he hasn't fucked you," he said perceptively.

"Now, wouldn't you like to know," I mocked him with pleasure for the absolute. I didn't fear him.

"I would," he said firmly. "Much so that I would like to just listen, if that is all you allow of me."

"Oh, it is a tale far heavier than your limited understanding," I said with delight. "I would much rather talk about you."

From time to time, he implored me to confess who I really was and where he might find me afterwards, which of course, I wouldn't.

I stayed there with him at a distance, talking about the mysteries of the lands in which I set foot on and reading some Antivan poetry to him of which I did not understand much except for _cullo_ which sounded like _ass _and _apassionata _which was _passionate. _Passionate ass? There's not enough words in the world of such cosmic proportions as to describe how utterly ridiculous a scene I found myself in…

He taught me a great deal of rank gutter-tramp Antivan, and he wanted to take me home, wherever that was. He had to regain his wits, he said; he was much too delighted with the mystery I had imposed on him. He could not conceive of such limitation on my part – that I came there and did not want to bed him. For that and other things I had impressed him with, he could not now live without me, he said. He would keep me in Antiva in a splendid house his assassin cousin had, a present from the former Antivan prince as courtesy for helping him be put first in line for the throne. If I was the daughter of some formidable nobleman, I should confess it, and this "obstacle" would be "dealt with". Did I hate my Father, perchance? No… my Father was dead.

His was a scoundrel. All the Crows were scoundrels and had been since the first day they set up shop in Antiva and practically took over the Crown itself. He would flee Antiva with me this very night if I so wished.

"You sound as if you don't know Antiva City and her noblemen," I said kindly, with a drunken smile. "Think on all this. You'll be cut to pieces for giving it a try."

I now perceived that he was fairly young. Since all older men seemed old to me, I had not thought about it before. He couldn't have been more than twenty- something. He was also **mad.**

He leapt on the bed impulsively, his messy light hair flying, and pulled his dagger, a formidable Antivan stiletto, and stared down into my upturned face.

"I'll kill for you," he said confidently and in a foolish fit of pride, in the Antivan accent. Then he drove the dagger into the pillow and the feathers flew out of it. "I'll kill you if I have to." The weathers went up into his face, and mine alike, but I kept my look unyieldingly unperturbed.

"And then you'll have what?" I asked confidently with a giant grin.

There was a creaking behind him. I was fairly certain someone was at the window, beyond the bolted wooden shutters, even though we were three stories above. I told him so. He believed me.

"I come from a family of murderous beasts," I lied and grinned viciously. "They'll follow you to the ends of the Dark City itself if you think of taking me out of there – they'll dismantle your whorehouse stone by stone, chop you in half and cut out your eyes, your tongue and your private parts, wrap them in velvet and send them to your Guild Master," I said while fiercely enjoying his sudden look of terror across his face. Then my voice became even more commanding, "Now calm down."

"Oh, you bright, saucy little demon," he said, "you look like a bloody angel and hold forth like a tavern knave in that sweet crooning cocky voice."

"That's me," I said smiling.

I got up and fixed my messy clothes hastily, warning him not to assault me just yet. Then when he let his guard down, I winked at him playfully and quickly made for the door.

He hovered in the bed, his dagger still tightly clutched in his hand, the feathers having settled on his white-colored head on his shoulders and his eyelashes. He looked truly dangerous.

I lost count of the days that had passed. I couldn't quite remember.

I only remembered this and Fenris's voice calmly declaring just how he would abuse of my availability to savor the moment I yielded to him and rested my head on his chest. But no, that wasn't it. It didn't happen that way.

No, it didn't happen _that _night. There was a giant gap in-between the first night in Antiva and that one haunting memory, and after that another huge gap, which led to me waking up in this whorehouse. The Bone Pit, I saw the sign written in emerald calligraphic letters by the main entrance. Perhaps I had mistaken it for the inn we were staying in, then the white-haired elf ran into me and … something extremely STUPID that was part of my DOOFUS mind made me go with him. Hm… truly interesting, that I did not do anything.

But where were the others? No… concentrate. I can't. I had to get out of there.

It was dark and just a little cold. The curfew had come down. Of course the Antivan cold of night seemed childishly mild to me after the snowy lands of the south, where I'd been born, but it was nevertheless an oppressive and damp air, and though cleansing breezes purified the city, it was inhospitable and unnaturally quiet. The illimitable sky vanished in thick mists. The very stones gave forth the chill as if they were blocks of ice.

Well, maybe it's the drunken shivers, I thought.

On a water stairs, I sat, not caring that it was brutally wet and I burst into silent growls. What had I learned from all this if there's no memory to bind it with, as to make sense of it all?

I felt rather sophisticated for once, like a stupid fucking princess fleeing the castle and trying to make sense of life. Bah, such idiocy. I desired no company, but I had no warmth from it, no real warmth and it seemed my loneliness now was worse than guilt, or fear, or the feeling of being damned.

Indeed it seemed to replace the old feeling. I feared it, being utterly alone. _For once, _I did admit it. As I sat there looking up at the tiny margin of this black heaven, at the few stars that drifted over the roofs of the buildings, I sensed how utterly terrible it would be to lose both Fenris, my friends, and my guilt simultaneously. To be cast out and tumbling through the world with nothing to defend, nor to be defended by, as I annoyingly had to admit. Nobody to love or damn you. That was it.

And then the memories struck me back like a cannon ball straight in the face. Oh, so many memories…

* * *

><p><strong>Two or three days ago,<strong>

Hawke strolled through the Piazza di Azzuro, right next to the famous San Giustinia Cathedral, which bore testament to Andraste's dearest friend in childhood who stood by her side each step of the way in her Exalted Marches.

There was one, vast painting over a grand façade, called The Procession of The Magi. It was probably the only painting in the world of Andrastianism that depicted mages from the Imperium repenting and joining Andraste's cause against their own kind. Now it was a marvelous painting, full of rampant detail. Not only was the Procession itself enormous, if not actually never ending, but the landscape behind it was wondrous, filled with towns and mountains, with men hunting and animals running, with beautifully realized castles and delicately shaped trees. The faces shimmering with honesty and drive for liberty, such strive _to_ strive, she had never seen drawn with a brush before.

"Such a painting surely brings testament to how great some mages were," she said in amazement, looking up and feeling like she would fall down.

"Sadly, we may never know such mages in our times anymore," Fenris replied flatly.

"Is that what I am to you? A poor old weakling? An excuse of a mage? Really, truly?" Hawke asked him with honest, but masked desperation.

"You are not weak," Fenris said firmly. "I don't know if you are great, though. That remains to be seen."

"Well… I… Fine, you take what you can get, and it's more than enough coming from you, I think," Hawke said with a short smile.

"I thought we were past your terrible misconception of me thinking lowly of you," Fenris said with a short frown.

"We are… it's just," Hawke said and looked up at the grand painting on the monument again. "Andraste might not have thought so. At least, her Chant of Light which was probably tempered with."

Fenris came next to her and gazed up at the painting, then said, "It doesn't matter. What Andraste did long ago has been undone."

"That's not my point," Hawke pressed insistently. "My point is –"

"I know what you strive to press on, but I'm not the one to give you a proper answer," Fenris confessed knightly.

"Nor does anyone else," Hawke said bitterly. "Only the so called Maker could account for this."

"You think the Maker doesn't resent you as much as he resents us all?" Fenris said nonchalantly. "It is much a worldly injustice towards mages as with any other race and man alike."

"Worldly injustice," Hawke repeated in amusement and shook her head. "I wonder – is not that people strive for this injustice, rather than unhinge it, with the presumption of complete non-responsibility, of comfort and ignorance? An attempt has been made foolishly well in the same direction on the basis of the opposite doctrine of full responsibility and guilt of every man. But it still pressed on the guilt of mages more than any other. Just for the sake of it."

"What do you mean?" Fenris asked in confusion.

"It was the founder of Andrastianism who wished to abolish worldly injustice and banish judgement and punishment from the world, no? For she understood all guilt as 'sin' – that is, an outrage against the Maker, and not against the world. In fact, he looks at it so, not Andraste."

Fenris looked at her in awe of her remarks and listened carefully, for she continued, "On the other hand, he considered pretty much every man in a broad sense, and almost in every sense, a sinner. The guilty, however, are not to be the judges of their peers – so his rules of equity decided, no?"

"That would be the logic of it, but it is not what is happening in the world, as you can see," Fenris said flatly.

"Exactly my point," Hawke said confidently. "Thus al dispensers of worldly injustice were in His eyes as culpable as those they condemned, and their air of guiltlessness appeared to Him hypocritical and pharisaical. He would have no mercy even of the most honourable, kind-hearted soul. Moreover, He looked to the motives and not the results of the actions, and thought that only one was keen-sighted enough to give a verdict on motives – Himself or, as he expressed it, the one and only God. Who did so in abandoning us. What a fucking douchebag."

Fenris couldn't help but burst into laughter at her finishing statement.

"Oh, yeah, that's how I usually close my speeches," Hawke said with a smile. "Want me to do my tribute to the Maker?"

Fenris looked around with a raised eyebrow, to see if anyone was near enough to be appalled by Hawke starting to sing right in the middle of the piazza, but decided he was curious enough to let her go, "Proceed."

She raised a mocking hand to the sky, "Ho, ho, ho, you big dork. Thanks for nothing, big fucking good-for-nothing pussy!" She heard Fenris laugh again softly at her blunt and cocky statement.

– **Gap –**

She was in the Fade, dreaming about a time when she and her father went _into _the Fade together, exploring a memory of _his_. She felt like she was making a much too complex inception for her to grasp, which made her lose consciousness and awareness. He showed her a memory of his from when he was in Antiva City, within the Serene Gardens of the San Giustinia Cathedral, erected in the name of Justinia, the Tevinter slave and Andraste's closest friend who remained by her side as a disciple in the war against the Imperium.

He wanted to show her something, but didn't right away. He remained in a meditative state as they sat on the moist grass of the square cloister.

"Father, do we serve Him?" Hawke pressed, running out of patience. "I know you condemn the Chantry and the ravings of some Andrastians, but do you mean to lead me to the same god they do?"

"That's just it, my love, I do," Malcolm said softly, "even though you might not believe me for the pagan I seem to appear, but I do. I find the Maker in the flesh, in the blood and especially in our magic. I find it no accident that the mysterious Andraste resides forever in a pouch of magical ashes that are meant to cure any illness."

"But we don't know if that's true," she contradicted. "It might all just be a big sodding bunch of hogwash."

"I think it's true," he said firmly. "But we're digressing."

"Oh, now you _don't _want to digress? How perfectly contradictory and uncharacteristic of you, lest that's just another diversion in itself."

"You don't think He exists? Or that Andraste was a saviour?" Malcom asked her calmly.

She didn't answer. She had renounced the idea of a Maker for as long as she could remember. A relentless, unforgiving god who abandoned them in their darkest times and sent even more anguish and havoc onto the earth just because of people believing in other gods and some stupid mages who supposedly woke him up and disturbed his peace in his Golden City. No, if that was what created them, she wouldn't want to hear of it.

"I stumble with my conceptions," she confessed.

"We all stumble, pup, and so do all those who enter history. The concept of a great Being stumbles down the centuries; His words and those principles attributed to Him do tumble after Him; and so Andraste is snatched up in His wandering by the preaching puritan on one side, the muddy starving hermit on the other. But that's not important. Nothing about it is."

"Then why discuss it? To fill these moments with empty talk?" she demanded in annoyance.

Malcolm laughed softly, "Come then. I've had about enough of contemplating."

Hawke rolled her eyes, "You don't say."

"Come now, we'll slip into the dormitories. There is enough light to see the paintings."

"Paintings?" she asked in surprise. "You mean that Gustavo mage guy you kept muttering about?"

"That's the one," Malcolm smiled.

"You mean he painted the dormitories where sisters go to sleep? A mage?"

"Yes," he said and led her through a wide stone corridor and made a door spring open.

They swayed through the sleeping bodies and Hawke was more scrutinizing of them than the walls she was supposed to look at.

"Don't look at her face," Malcolm said firmly. "If you do you'll see the troubled dreams she suffers. I want you to look at the wall."

Hawke looked at the paintings on the wall and narrowed her eyes. She gazed upon the elegant rendering of Andraste in deep meditation in a garden. The flattened figure resembled very much the familiar, harsher style of Ferelden painting, yet the face was softened with genuine and touching emotion. It seemed a kindness infused in her, condemned to be betrayed by one of her own, no other than her husband, Maferath. Her Disciples looked on her with the same powerful emotion. Even the Tevinter soldier, in his heavy platemail, was painted with full might and feeling, who was reaching out for her to take her into their custody.

She was tunnelled, transfixed, to say the least, by this seeming innocence that infused every figure, this undeniable kindness and purity. The painter did his part thoroughly in highlighting this, apart from the terrible tragedy that was actually happening in the picture.

Malcolm walked away with her into another room which depicted Andraste before she had been taken by the Tevinters. She was praying to the Maker for strength. Again, she was reminded of the Ferelden paintings of her, yet there shone again the Antivan warmth, the unmistakable Antivan love of the humanity of all included. Even for the elves, which were there in the painting, sleeping peacefully by Andraste's side with Shartan as their leader.

Andraste apparently meant "in the name of victory". Present Hawke in the Fade, reliving the memory of the younger Hawke reliving Malcolm's memory… remembered what Shartan wrote in his book as she read it to Fenris. "Let us, therefore, go against the Tevinters, trusting boldly to good fortune. Let us show them that they are hares and foxes trying to rule over dogs and wolves." Apparently, the ancient elves had an act of divination of sorts, in which they let a hare go loose and whichever direction it went, it predicted the way of the future, good or bad. Shartan let the hare go loose and it ran on what they considered the auspicious side, the whole multitude of his people and Andraste's shouted with joy and Shartan, raising his hand towards Andraste, said : "I thank you, Andraste, and call upon you as equal being to being from the same blood and soul, … I beg you for victory and preservation of liberty."

They went from room to room, traveling backwards and forwards through the life of Andraste. The 13 nights of one-tear shedding of Andraste in her despair for the fate of her fellow slaves and her husband, Maferath, gathering the tears in a vial. The first time she had her dream in which the Maker showed Himself to her. The time she sang and the Maker, enchanted by her voice, invited her at His side, but she instead encouraged Him to return to humanity and forgive them, compelling her fellow Alamarri and the elven slaves to fight against the magisters of the Imperium. One painting depicted her in the centre, gripped from each side in a very dark and creepy way by two positively hideous-looking magisters, and she, in turn, looking austere and peaceful, accepting of her fate.

They came by the painting that depicted Archon Hessarian putting the sword through Andraste's heart as he saw the errors of his ways and felt mercy at the sight of her anguish in her immolation, being burned at the stake. The sword was now a symbol of mercy in Andrastian lore and the Archon was the first to be converted to following the Chant of Light. Of course, a lot of people thought that Archon's repentance was just a cunning move to ensure his stay on the throne in the image of a wise, enlightening being driven by divine mercy. But then again there were a lot of wild tales, especially the one about Andraste being a very powerful mage whose intentions were more political than idealistic. And even if she was one… it didn't make a difference. She wasn't accusing magic, but magisters and people misinterpreted her entirely.

Although what transfixed Hawke was her anguish while being burned at the stake. How thoughtful in their distress were Hesarrian and Andraste's Disciples, Shartan tormented by despair. One tale suspected he was actually her lover and that's partly the reason why Maferath found it easier to betray her to the Imperium.

Hawke felt a stronger connection now with the tale and even with the quiet incandescent splendour of this Antivan painter who graced those walls. When they reached their last painting, they travelled through the whirls of the Fade and they were shoved back into reality. Her Father went by the desk and started to write something quickly.

Hawke shivered as she felt the physical world again, in that dark room in the abandoned house, and pressed, "What did he try to do through these paintings? Subtly bequeath to his brethren? Magnificient, grand pictures to put them in mind with Andraste's suffering?

Malcom wrote several lines before he resumed.

"The painter never scorned to delight our eyes, to fill your vision with all the colours the Maker had bestowed upon our eyes, for you are given two eyes, pup, and not to be…. Not to be shut up in the dark. You understand?"

She reflected for a long time. To know these things theoretically was one thing, but to have passed through the hushed and sleeping rooms of the Chantry, to have seen her Father's principles there, emblazoned by that painter, a mage himself – this was something else. Even if it was just the Fade.

"It is a glorious time, this," Malcolm said softly while still writing. "Even in all this tragedy that's coming upon us. That which was good among the ancients is now going to be rediscovered and given a new form. Things will change, for worse at first, but for the better in time. What Andraste did long ago seems to have been undone, but it is not late yet for another to come and make peace."

Hawke scowled at his words, and he looked up at her and gave her a warm smile, "You ask me if Andraste is a saint, our Saviour? I say, pup, that she can be, for she never taught anything herself but love, and so did her Disciples afterwards, Hesarrian taught us mercy, whether they know it or not, have led us to believe…"

She waited on him to finish his sentence, but he kept writing and contemplating himself. The heavy candelabra behind him, with its ten thick melting candles, lit her Father's face with that passion of his to know the truth but be cautious in finding it. He spent years writing, questioning, laughing and making jokes all the while and for a good part of it… being much too prudent for Hawke's taste.

"If Andraste is our Saviour," he continued, returning to his point, returning them both to his lesson, "then what a beautiful miracle it is, this Andrastian mystery – ." His eyes fell into deep realization. "That a poor, forsaken slave convinced nations to rise up and fight against a whole and vast, dangerous empire and she actually took the whole south of it. She convinced a Deity to join her fight. Or simply watch, I don't quite know, myself."

He looked up and scowled, "Only mark forever the lies they tell in Her name and His and the deeds they do."

Hawke sat in silence and almost burst into tears. Malcolm watch her quietly, respecting her perhaps, or only collecting his thoughts. Then he dipped his pen again and wrote for a long time.

"I set out to show you things and it's never as I plan," her Father finally said. "I wanted you tonight to see the dangers of going to deep into the Fade, how we can travel to other places and that this slipping in and out so easily is a deception of which we must beware, for the Fade is not the perfect spitting image of our reality. But look, how differently it has all gone."

Hawke didn't answer him.  
>"I wanted you," he said softly and smiled, "to be a little afraid."<p>

"Father," Hawke said, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, "you can count on me to be properly frightened when the time comes. I'll have this power, I know it. I can feel it now. And for now, I think it's splendid, and because of it, this power, one dark thought falls over my heart."

"What is that thought?" he asked in the kindest way. "You know your angelic face is no more fit for sad tings than those faces painted by Gustavo. What's this shadow I see, your dark thought?"

"Take me back," she said firmly, "with your power, take me back to the Fade. We can travel through the whole of Thedas on which you set foot. Take me to the Imperium where you've been, that cruel land that has become a purgatory in my imagination. I want to understand - " she said but stopped, for she didn't know exactly what she wanted to understand. These lessons, this whole quest for understanding magic… it was too much for her young, brave, but bold and impatient little brain.

He was slow in giving her an answer. Morning was coming and they had to prepare themselves , wake the others up and leave the place where they were stationed, for their stay was too long and dangerous. They could see through the window the distant, already paling waters of the Amaranthine Ocean, twinkling under the moon and stars, beyond the familiar red forests of Ferelden scenery. Tiny lights flickered on the distant islands. The wind was mild and full of salt and freshness, and a particular deliciousness that comes only when one has lost all fear for the sea.

"Your request is brave, but reckless, pup," Malcolm said with a concerned, half-disapproving voice.

"Have you travelled so far before?"

"In miles, in actual physical space, and partly in the Fade yes, many times," he said. "But in another's quest for understanding? No, never so far."

And she never got to hold him for this request. It was too late, for he perished before she could remind him.

– **Gap –**

Back in her room, she sighed heavily and chose the Lamentation of Andraste as inspiration for a painting. She had quickly bought new tools and was eager to try them. It had been… how long? Years and years, since she painted. She made her Andraste as tender and vulnerable as she could conceivably do, but much with a strong emotional resistance in her figure, unyielding and staying true to her predicament. Pagan that she was, she didn't know who was supposed to be there! And so she created an immense and varied crowd of weeping humans and elves to lament the dead Andraste, and angels in the sky torn with anguish much like the spirits of compassion painted by that mage, Gustavo, whose work she had seen in the Fade.

She realized something. She was free. She could paint what she wanted. She could be what she wanted. The knight in shining armor she strove so much to be as a child. Nobody was going to be the wiser! But then again, she thought, perhaps that was not entirely true.

– **Gap –**

A few hours later, Fenris walked into her room with curious distress on his face. It was as if she'd never seen him before, so great was his impression of her, so soft and compelling his voice, saying "Am I disturbing?", so radiant his handsome face and his tired eyes. It was an agony and also an immeasurable consolation to be near him, that he would still come to her.

"Yes," Hawke said firmly. "Unless you wish to sit for me as I paint?"

Fenris frowned, only realizing now she was really _using _the easel.

"I…" he hesitated in a deep voice.

"It won't bite," she said with a warm smile. "Much."

"Very well," he said knightly. "How do you wish me to pose?"

"Hm, hmmm," she played childishly. "Would naked with a rose between your teeth be too much?"

"Far too much for the first attempt at painting me, certainly," Fenris said with a sensual grin.

"Oh, so it is bound to happen," Hawke said confidently. "Good to know."

"I seem to be full of suprises," Fenris said grumpily. "Sitting down would make up for a good start, I suspect."

"Very much so," she said happily, grabbing the cold colour palette.

He was irresistible to her, now that she put the brush on the canvas and effortlessly, as if not even needing to look at him, shaped every little detail of his tropically tan skin, his messy white hair, like that of a majestic little brat prince rising up in the morning from his slumber, and those green ravishing eyes masked with complete nonchalance, but still leaking piercing thoughts about her as he watched her paint. That usual regal figure about him in his Tevinter armor.

Ah, such weakness she had and how much she wanted to- But what could she do? What could I do? Claim him and accept his loyalty to me just so that he would rapidly find it overwhelming and run away from me? I would not survive that. I couldn't allow it.

– **Gap –**

NO. NO GAP. I remember now, shush! SHUSH.

Well, still some big gap, for what I remember was this:

Somehow, as I told him I was finishing up his portrait, I saw him staring, beastlike, from his chair, as if some ravener had come into him and banished all his civilized faculties and left him, thus, hungry, with glazed eyes and a ferocious grin finding its myriad little shapes over the silky margin of his lips.

Then, Fenris grabbing me by the arm and leaning lower with his dark eyes to steal a kiss away from me again as I was sitting on my chair in front of the canvas. He was impressed with my work of him. He wanted to lift me in both hand, cluthing my arms ever so gently, tucking his face against my neck. And I was about to subdue myself to his demanding wish for us to be close, for my weakness grew stronger and so did my lack of reason, as I spent so many a minutes deeply immersed into depicting him in all his glory. Until a bang came upon the floor.

A figure burst with haste into the room.

Not for a single second did I not know him. He was unchanged, just as I was unchanged, and he had not paid attention to the fashion of these times, any more than he had paid attention to the commoner fashion of times in Ferelden.

He looked dreadful, in fact in a ragged leather jerkin and leggings with holes in them and his boots were tied with rope. His hair was dirty and tangled, but his face wore an amazingly pleasant expression, and when he saw me he came at once to me and embraced me.

"You're really here," he said in a low voice, as though we had to whisper under my own roof. He still had our harsh Ferelden accent. "I heard of it but I didn't want to believe it. Oh, I'm so glad to see you. I'm so glad you're still…"

"Alive? … And well?" I said in amusement. "No I wouldn't really stick a hand in the flame for the latter."

"Oh, you put it far better than I could," he answered, sickly panting to no end. "But let me say it again, I'm so happy to see you, happy to hear your voice."

"Danny, always the astonished one," I said mockingly, moving him gently away towards the light of the candles. I laughed softly, "You look like a tramp."

"And you look like a majestic queen," Daniel said in amazement, taking a step backward to catch a better glimpse of me. "Finally got to be the knight in shining, well, dark armor."

"Not quite, lest for the appearance of it," I said in self-mockery.

I almost forgot Fenris was there watching. I sensed a sudden and violent jealousy in him. But nothing changed in his face. Don't trust him. That's what his soul said to me. And I knew somewhere deep in his mind he wished that Daniel didn't interrupt our little moment, that he would else just leave now, and we could have the shadowy bed, with its concealing velvet curtains, to ourselves. There was something stubborn in him, something directed entirely towards me. Perhaps constant concern? And how it tempted me, how it drew from me the most complete devotion.

But I had to get back to my new visitor. No, first, introductions were in order.

"Oh, where are my manners?" I said innocently, scratching my head. "Fenris – Daniel, Daniel – Fenris. Danny and I lived not far away from each other in Lothering. I trained with his brother and Carver-"

"While I had to sit and suffer every little annoying remark of your Father whenever I didn't get a spell right, Maker rest his soul," Daniel said in amusement, but finished in honest grief.

I saw a sudden lift to Fenris's eyebrows, knowing now with Daniel's curiously rapid declaration, that he was a mage.

"Forgive me, I have to sit down," Daniel said sickly and coughed. "I'm not in my best shape."

"So something _is _up with you," I said in anger. "I knew I had to come sooner."

"There was no need," he said honestly. "But I thank you that you did. I really wished I could see your face again before I-"

"Before you what?" I asked in terror, being almost certain of his next words.

"Before I die," he confessed humbly while looking down and panting.

"How did you find me?" I deflected, because I needed the truth to sink in.

He smiled. "There are not enough of your red X's in Antiva that you left for me to find you."

I lashed out, I couldn't bare it. I went by the bed and grabbed him by the collar. "If I hadn't run into you in Perivantium, would you even care to find me before you did as you so claim, _die_? Would you have told me in your next letter anything about it? Or did I have to hear it from your mother or from no one?" I shouted desperately.

"Mother is no more," he said bitterly. "She's with Father and Brother now."

I spat on the ground. "And you wouldn't have the courtesy to let me know when you joined them too?"

"Little Hawke, always so impulsive and driven," he said warmly, shaking his head.

"I can't even look at you right now," I said viciously and turned my back.

Fenris was watching us in complete confusion, so I pressed to explain, "We got separated during the Blight. His father died during the war and his brother disappeared or perished for all we know, a few years before that. It was only him and his mother, and I couldn't manage to keep them close with us."

"It wasn't your fault," Daniel said from behind in-between coughing. "I was stubborn not to listen to you."

"Great," I said in annoyance. "For once, you don't blame me for something. Good that you're trying to make amends on your deathbed."

"I am, in fact," he said. "Not so much as to really succeed though, for your anger with me might get in the way."

"You don't say," I hissed bitterly and crossed my arms.

But I couldn't fool myself, I was in pain masked by blind anger. That I finally saw him again, my friend, and he would just soon come to an end. His letter to me was very vague in this, but for all his style of deflecting, I knew it all too well. That's the reason I came to Antiva, first of all. I knew something was about.

And now I wished I hadn't known. I did wish to know it, but I could scarcely bring himself to accept the truth. What happened to Danny, to his family, to me in all the years back in Lothering, followed then by my journey to Kirkwall, it was all part and parcel of my life now.

There is nothing to do but cross the Bridge of Sighs in my life, the long dark bridge spanning what seemed like centuries of my tortured existence which connected me to this very moment. That my time in this passage I will not bring myself to remember any longer – it was dead and gone. And now he would be too.

I wish I had escaped this fate – of people making a tradition of dying on me every few years. I wished that Daniel had escaped what happened to him, everything that happened to him. It was plain now though, that I had survived our separation with far greater insight and strength than he survived it. But then he was already maybe even minutes away from dying at my feet, so old and wise he seemed though we were the same age, and I simply seemed like a child.

"What's happening to you? How much time," I almost whispered with grief.

"Soon enough," he said sickly. "Talk to me now before I lose consciousness, before I forget who you are."

"No," I said pleadingly. "Please tell me what's going on. Maybe I can help."

"You can't help everyone all the time, Hilde," Daniel said with a bitter-sweet smile. "You simply can't."

"I can," I said desperately. "Give me all of your poison, I could scream at the world. Give me all your venom, give me all your hopeless hearts and make me ill!" I screamed, not controlling myself anymore, succumbing to a hysterical crisis.

"Cry all you want, my friend, but who's going to save you?" Daniel said calmly.

"I don't want to be saved, I don't care. I could be damned for all I care, if it means others can live," I screamed furiously.

I saw Fenris's look of terror on his face as I screamed those words. Maybe I was indeed, as he said, the queen of the damned. I desperately wanted to ensure the continuity of the ones that were around me, yet they kept dying. Wasn't that reason enough to push him away? Would it not for all this venom in the world that lingered around me? He would die too just being in my presence. I was such a fool. So terribly greedy. I was no saint.

"Give me liquor," Daniel said. "I wish to taste the alcohol one more time."

"_That's _the great amend you're making? Getting drunk?" I screamed and went by the table to grab a bottle of brandy. He had meantime sat up on the bed, staring straight at the bottle as it hung from my hand. He reached out for it, and took it and drank it thirstily.

"Take a good look at me," I demanded angrily.

"It's too dark in here, idiot," he said. "How can I take a good look at anything? Hmmm, but this is good. Thank you, whoever you are."

He was starting to lose it. I was starting to lose it too.

"_Take _a good look _at me,_" I growled and grabbed him by the collar.

Suddenly he paused with the bottle just beneath his lips. It was a strange thing, the way in which he hesitated. It was as if he were in Lothering again, and he'd just sensed a Templar coming up on him, or some other lethal beast. He froze, as it were, with the bottle in hand, and only his eyes moved as his eyes looked up at me.

"Hildegaard," he whispered.

"Yes, I'm alive," I said gently. "They didn't kill me. I got to Kirkwall and I'm safe. Both mother and Carver are safe."

"But not …" he whispered.

I sighed and shook my head, "No."

His eyes were sorrowful. Indeed, a grand serenity settled over him. He was far too drunk for his reason to revolt or for cheap surprise to torment him. On the contrary, the truth stole in and over him in a wave, subduing him, and he understood of all its ramifications again, as his mind came back. That I had not suffered, that I was rich, I was well.

"Hildegaard," he whispered again, but there was no change in his face. There was only sedate wonder. He sat still, both hands on the bottle which he had lowered to his lap, his huge shoulders very straight, and his flowing black hair as long as I'd ever seen it, melting into the fur of his cloak.

"I'm here," I said bitterly, taking him by the shoulders. "I'm here." I hugged him tightly, not knowing exactly what else to do and pushing back the tears.

"Look at me," he demanded sickly as I kept his balance. He looked at me with pale, suffering eyes, I could see that he was dying. I understood suddenly that he was indeed diseased from within and would soon truly die. I felt such terror, looking at him, such a terror for my whole world and all my friends, but more him than anyone else at the moment. It was just a tiresome, common and inevitable disease. "You can't do anything for me. Not even healing will work. I know you will try," he coughed heavily, "Don't. As much as you are tempted."

"I am indeed much tempted, I've been training again," I said pleadingly.

"You have?" he asked in utter amazement. He gave out a hoarse, painful and sickly laugh. "_You?_ Oh, I'm so happy that I didn't die before I knew such wonder coming from _you. _Oh… my darling little Hawke, covered in mud and full of scars, crippled to no end every day by the sword and you kept going and going. And you left the magic behind," he coughed again hoarsely, "and now you tell me you've taken it up again."

"Well, I'm full of wonders," I said angrily.

He smiled. "Well, your Father was a wise man. He always believed you would find it in your heart to accept what you were. So he kept telling me and making me promise I won't whisper it to you."

"I haven't accepted anything," I said angrily and spat on the ground. "That's what magic is to me."

He laughed again, "Oh my, such familiar rudeness. Much like Andrei."

I ignored him, "Please, let me try to heal you."

"You will not," he commanded bitterly. "But I have something to ask of you."

"What is it?" I asked in fear.

"You must promise you will grant me this last wish, after I give you something that was supposed to go to you long ago," he said calmly in-between panting. His face was already sweating with illness, his eyes were fading off colour. No…

He reached out for his rugged coat, but looked at me firmly, "Promise."

I shook my head rapidly. "I- I can't promise. I know what you want of me."

He faintly tried to grab me by the arm, but barely could. He was so ghostly sick. "Please."

I pressed my eyes shut, the whispered bitterly, "Fine."

He got out a locket with a red rune inside. "This was your Father's. He asked me to give it you, when you-"

"Thank you," I said in amazement. Oh, what a marvel, that my Father had brought it back with him, all the way from the scene of such loss, a long time ago. And yet why not? Why not would such a man as he have done such a thing? And give it to Danny to give to me.

I feared for it, this fragile peace of steel and this glistering lacquered red rune, meant to shine all the time. I hadn't seen it for a very long time.

But is there anyone who needs now to ask me what this locket-rune meant to me? Is there anyone who needs now to know why, when I saw the Pheonix symbol on it – I saw the face of my Father in it, as if from beyond the Veil, telling me I'm not alone in this, that he did not want to leave me. That I would be fine, either way. That he did not resent me for how we left things.

"Do it," Daniel said bitterly. "I want you to do it."

"I can't," I shouted. "You can't ask this of me. I won't."

"Do you have no sense of honour, Hawke?" he asked firmly. "What happened to live, serve, protect and die? In victory – peace and in death – freedom?"

"That's a mere platitude when you're standing right in front of me!" I shouted angrily.

"Allow me to do it," Fenris intervened knightly with a lash of concern and sorrow directed at me. I thanked him in my mind for his compassion, but I couldn't allow him to do it for me.

Daniel snorted. "Hush! This elf has more sense of honour than you, Hawke! You're a coward!"

"I am not!" I screamed. "I- " I growled. "I'll do it. So help me I'll do it. I'm sorry."

"Do it, now!" he screamed. "Now, I beg you." He reached out with his hands around my neck. I reached for my dagger. "No, Hawke. With your own sword." I sighed and took my sword, and just when I thought I would change my mind at the last moment, I plunged it deeply through his heart. The last glimpse of his eyes I saw, a look of honest, friendly gratitude.

I swallowed heavily as he died, I held him into my arms and closed his eyes as he perished. Then I took my sword out, pressed my eyes shut and threw it at the wall, blood smearing all across from it.

Fuck. Fuck… Fucking bitch.

And just when I was about to fall onto my knees in tears, I swallowed all of it and dispatched of his body in the middle of the night, the patron kept distracted by Fenris.

Then Fenris helped me carry his body to the nearby shore and I set him on the sea on a boat I stole from the harbour nearby. I set it on fire with my hands and let it float away on the water, as it was the Ferelden custom.

Watching him turn to dust in the distance, Fenris felt clumsy at my petrified state and probably did not know what much to say or do. I appreciated him for not trying to comfort me in any way. It was a warrior's sense of honour to stay silent for the fallen. Only the living knew victory. For the dead, out of respect, you would remain quiet and pray in your mind, however childishly, that they would know peace.

I could not shed a single tear.

– **Gap – **

Fenris knew of my struggle, he knew the hold which Ferelden had upon me, and he knew of the crucial importance of all this to me. He understood better than anyone I've ever known that each being wars with his own angels and demons, each being succumbs to an essential set of values, a theme, as it were, which is inseparable from living a proper life.

For us, life was the warrior life. But it was in every sense life, and sensuous life too. And fleshy, and… joyful. I could not escape it from the compulsions and obsessions I'd felt as when I was younger. On the contrary, they were now magnified – the demons of my past.

No MATTER how long we exist, we have our memories— points in time which time itself cannot erase. Suffering may distort my backward glances, but even to suffering, some memories will yield nothing of their beauty or their splendor. Rather they remain as hard as gems and some mere sacks of filth I always strive to forget. For all the souls I could not save. For all the souls that made it so only apparently, as if by some cruel predisposition of destiny, that they did not let me save them.

Within the day after what happened, I knew I had set the tone for my approach to the world around me yet again. I should wallow in luscious beauty of Antivan painting and music and architecture, yes, but I would do it with the fervor of a Ferelden saint. I would turn all sensuous experiences to goodness and purity. I would learn, I would increase understanding, I would increase in compassion for the people around me, and I would never cease to put a pressure upon my soul to be that which I believed was good.

Good was above all kind; it was to be gentle. It was to waste nothing. It was to paint, to read, to study, to listen, to love, even to pray, though to whom I prayed I wasn't sure, and it was to take very opportunity to be generous to those people whom I did not kill.

As for those I killed, I would have probably struggled to dispatch them mercifully, that I would become the absolute mistress of mercy, but such fantasy was way over my head.

But regardless, I swallowed my grief and became cheerful again, for everyone else's sake, all the while thinking of the world - and now, you singular druggist-souls, you have made of death a drop of poison, unpleasant to taste, which makes the whole of life hideous.

And _that's _when the scene with the fountain came. When he forced me to rest upon his chest, when he said that he didn't see my magic as curse, when he told me he would teach me whatever he had to teach, for it was high time he repaid me for everything I had given him.

But the story is not over… I still couldn't remember how I ended up in the brothel. I had to press harder. I had to concentrate.

– **To be continued – **

– **(duh) –**


	10. Con Te Partiro

**I strongly, strongly recommend having Con Te Partiro (Time To Say Goodbye) song in your ears when you get to the scene which will be obvious with it. I'm sorry for the gaps, but it's much excitement, yes? **

**Well, bear with me. Bear with me. Soon Hawke's gonna leave the scenery. I wonder who will take over... Hm. Hmm.**

* * *

><p>Woman! When I behold thee flippant, vain,<p>

Inconstant, childish, proud, and full of fancies;

Without that modest softening that enchances

The downcast eye, repentant of the pain

That its mild light creates to heal again:

Even then, elate, my spirit leaps, and prances,

Even then my soul with exultation dances

For that to love, so long, I've dormant lain:

But when I see thee meek, and kind, and tender,

Heavens! How desperately I adore

Thy winning graces; - to be thy defender

I hotly burn – to be a Calidore –

A very Red Cross Knight – a stout Leander –

Might I be loved by thee like these of yore.

(John Keats, _Sonnet I of Three Sonnets To A Woman)_

H.B. Hawke here, _still _here, to usher and guide you through this fervent tumult of my mind, trying to recall and decipher the chunks of memories that I had lost. And as it turns out, I had lost a great deal, and not just memories.

Understand, Danny's sudden death had a toll on me. I could never quite forgive neither myself, for how I had left things, nor him, for how he chose to depart from this world. I knew he was sick; he had been a sickly boy even as a child. He would sit days on end in bed, while I, Bethany, Carver and his brother, Andrei, played like wild dogs in the street. He and Bethany were the… nicer, the wiser of us. The mediators. Me? I was the leader of the group, the brat queen, but I had a rival! A contestant to my unyielding, incandescent little throne – his brother. Oh, Andrei and Carver were so mean, so deliberately rude to me, so questioning of my every word and move. And after a while, it seemed as I had to choose or better yet, to sever myself in half, to spend time with Danny and Bethany in our magic training, and then with Andrei and Carver in our sword training. At the end of the day, we'd gather by the lake just outside town and share stories of mighty demons they lied about fighting and the other two dog-heads boasted about how great and strong they were and how they had slain wolves. Fortunately, I was there for both groups to shed light on the truth – that there was no demon or wolf slaying, in fact – most of the time it was accidental setting fire to each other's clothes on the mages side and accidental hitting one's head with the pummel of one's sword on the warriors side.

It was… delightful, and frustrating. Daniel and Andrei were twins, one mage, one warrior, just like Bethany and Carver. I was the fifth wheel of the carriage, subtly appointed leader and alone on my grand throne. I was the freak-show mage warrior they looked up and challenged whenever they were annoyed with me. I'd quickly put them down.

As we grew older, there was a certain, well, different dynamic to us, because our bodies developed and hormones were flushing and boiling in and out of our system. Everyone was a smart mouth. Andrei was mean and revolting, provoking me every time with his smug grimaces and arrogant lines, while he was with Carver, and my brother enjoyed every minute of it. There was someone else challenging my great "authority and might". Danny remained careless and polite, more so probably not because Father took him under his wing, but because I was sure he had a certain crush on Bethany. Oh, he tried so hard! I remember once he tried to impress her with the fact that he could now form wisps and as he flew one green wisp around his head, Bethany turned away to talk to _her_ certain crush, his brother Andrei, and Danny's wisp went haywires, whirled around his head and in his mouth. He threw up for hours, bah, that little idiot!

We weren't really friends… not really. At least, I didn't see it that way. We were all forced to be in each other's company because of our training and the proximity. I never pictured the two brothers, I don't know, giving their lives for anybody if something morbid happened. At least not for me. For Beth or Carver, sure. Maybe.

And I couldn't be more annoyed by the fact that I had to sit and listen to mages talk about their powers and how great they were – all in good prudence of course, when we would be alone and it was late at night. Because as I grew older, I grew just as well, away from magic and slowly had to emotionally distance myself from those who wielded it.

As for Carver and Andrei, they were a tiresome lot. I enjoyed their company as much as I could, but they didn't understand me. My brother and sister each had their own best friend, a fellow companion much like themselves who understood their plight and shared the same views and theories.

As for me, my only real friend was my Father. He was the only one who understood me, just as well, because he had already been through my journey of understanding. He was no ordinary mage and he was the least bit enthusiastic of them all, except for me. With Bethany, he tried to teach her his ways in other manners, learning from the mistakes he made with me, and she was quick to accept her magic and use it to be something brilliant. She felt at ease, manipulating elements, creating light and fire, ice and so on.

Only once did I come, as a young adult almost, to make temporary peace with my "gift" and it was all because Lothering was in a state of great turmoil, its lands and crops being devastated by the draught. It was a long and painful summer. Maker, it felt like were in the jungles of Seheron! I mean, I could only imagine that was the kind of swelling heat that conquered the north.

I made it rain. I don't know if it was my own selfish, patience to an end desire to feel my favourite thing in the world besides wielding a sword, or it was an honest act of mercy for my fellow people. I stood one night, in the middle of the night of course when nobody was awake to see me, away from any prying eye of a guard. Actually I stood on the roof the Chantry, if you must know. I found it a bit poetic and macabre at the same time… the vagabond mage atop the very symbol of that tried to kill me and everything I was. And here in a fit of mercy, I tricked nature! With stretched hands and a ravaging stoic look on my face as I channelled the power and the skies started to jolt, thunder scorching through the clouds and showers of cold, cold rain tempested across the raging canvas that made my little Lothering. I felt like an epic god of thunder, god of rain, earthshaker who feels no pain!

"… But in my whole awesomeness, I didn't take into account that this badassery of mine stripped me of my mana and I quickly fell. NO! I didn't fall off the Chantry," she said this to Fenris, as he listened peacefully to the story of my tormented existence. We were still sitting on the edge of the fountain, hours passed already from that one surprising act of comfort coming from him. She let go of him soon and started telling the tale and he only complained darkly with his eyes that he didn't want her to let go of his warm hold. But she couldn't risk diving into more at that moment. Because she, just as him, were full of the childish drive to force themselves into things they didn't understand.

He looked at her with some kind of fatherly disapproving look, all in savour of that hauntingly irresistible grin he only allowed her to see, which kind of said 'You're a terribly deranged clown mage and you continue to astound me'.

"Tell me, is there any story you tell that does not have some incredible twist which only proves how luck has a tendency to save you from every dangerous escapade?" Fenris asked in a grumpy, but entertained voice, as he rested his elbow upon his knee and cupped his chin like a mighty, judging superior.

Hawke rolled hers eyes and sighed, "Fine, I lie. I did, I almost did. Good thing that I had a stalker."

"Oh?" Fenris asked with raising an eyebrow.

"The twins followed me. Danny with his stupid force magic and Andrei with his incredibly arrogant smirks like saying I told you so, I told you so," Hawke said mockingly and laughed, "But, bah, what can I say… thank you? A word to the wise? Then the fire dies. Hasta la vista. You can stop judging me now."

Fenris knew she knew, there was a question boiling in his bones, but he was refraining from asking it in respect to the recently deceased and to Hawke's supressed grief, but she sighed heavily at his honourable silence and said, "It's always like this with you. Just ask your question."

His eyebrows suddenly joined in a bewildered frown and he rose from his elbow-resting-on-knee posture, his back straight and his hand squeezing defensively at the edge of the fountain, as if he would lest simply lose his balance.

"Come on, I know something's bothering you. Just ask. I mean, if it has to do with the story, that is," Hawke said calmly with an arrogant smile. "You wonder which of the twins was my not so love, but tragic story nonetheless, don't you?"

"Could I be more transparent?" Fenris asked grumpily, shaking his head with annoyed half-closed eyes.

"Well, if you turn your glow on, you'll be translucent, transparent, transculture, transcendent, transfixing _and_ trans…matter," Hawke said in amusement, finishing deliberately awkward on the last word, with which she smiled provokingly. "Only thing missing is to be transgender."

Fenris burst into soft laughter, "That is out of the question."

"The Kirkwall Banquette?" Hawke reminded him with an evil grin.

"I was dressed in man's clothing, I only _felt _like a woman in them," Fenris corrected her defensively. "And with good reason, they were meant for you to wear."

"And not even a good-looking woman, right? You did feel a bit flat-chested when you put that shirt on," Hawke teased him playfully. "Oh, you would have killed to have some breasts in there to fill the void, didn't you?"

"Or at least some lyrium breasts tattooed on my chest. That would have made things considerably better," Fenris joked while smiling shortly.

Hawke chucked heavily, "Maker's breath, now that's an image I'll never get out of my head," then she burst into drunken laughter, "Oh and when you're angry you start squirting lyrium milk out of your nipples!" She continued laughing hysterically and almost fell with her back into the fountain.

Fenris shook his head, one corner of his mouth drawing shyly into a grin. "As if having two points glowing blue through my chest plate wouldn't have been enough."

"Oh shit, you're right. That would be so awesome! You know that warrior song 'Sword into the wind'?"

Fenris shook his head. "No, what of it?"

"It goes something like 'Sail into the black of night, magic stars are guiding light'. Screw magic stars, Fenris's blue glowing nipples will be our guiding light in the darkness!" She continued laughing hysterically and again, was going backwards and almost falling.

Fenris caught her quickly and put her back into place, shaking his head, "Oh, I wonder whatever happened to inappropriately groping drunken Hawke."

"What? You don't like inappropriately bullshitting with fastidious imagination about lyrium breasts Hawke?" she asked confidently, in-between hiccups.

Fenris smirked softly, "I enjoy them both, as long as I too am drunk enough to suffer them."

"Oh, boohoo on the private stoic elf who hisses at anybody that even remotely touches him," Hawke mocked him playfully.

Fenris lifted his eyebrows with an evil grin, "I don't remember ever hissing when you dared to touch me. In fact," he took a hold of his chin arrogantly, "I remember quite a warm welcoming of it."

Hawke drew a mocking grimace, "So that's how you warmly welcome groping? By hostile and violent assaulting of the grop_er_? You ought to look up 'warm' in the dictionary, now that you _can _do it."

Fenris smirked and looked away knightly, "I find hostility on my part to be deeply misinterpreted. But even so," he said firmly and looked back at Hawke with the piercing green eyes, "there's nothing like a bit of fear to go with courting a woman."

"Oh? Is this what you're doing? Courting me?" Hawke asked in deep amusement. "I would have never guessed."

His calm face didn't change, but his innocence burst through the cracks of his mask, so he finally said, "Which only bears testament to how truly terrible I am at this," he confessed in amusement for himself.

Hawke smiled to no end, and started to appear cocky, resting a hand on her thigh. "When did this start? I'm quite impressed. Being so foolishly deceived and I didn't even know it!"

Fenris didn't answer, but her look was ever more commanding. He finally muttered, "Consciously, on my part? Since that night in your mansion." She remained unimpressed, pressing silently on the other thing, so he cursed at her in his mind. He sighed and looked down, his hair masking a small, contained smile. "Do you really want to know?"

Hawke leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees to catch his innocent gaze masked by his white hair, "Why, yes, I do."

"I will not tell you anything," Fenris said calmly, continuing to smile faintly. "Unless I can hold you to the same deed."

Hawke grimaced, "Way to kill the mystery."

"Then let this be a mystery," Fenris said firmly, containing his grin.

"Not so fast," Hawke commanded assertively. "I want to know."

"Why is this so important to you?" Fenris asked as if he was genuinely confused.

Hawke rolled her eyes. "Do I really have to answer that?"

He sighed, still looking down, and muttered grumpily, "Who goes first?"

"Hmmmm, you," she said childishly. He remained silent, looking terrified even in such calmness. "What you don't trust me that I'll hold my end of the deal?"

The corner of his lips moved as if something bothered him and blocked the words out, "It's not that."

Hawke smiled warmly. "Fine then, don't tell me." He remained silent, as if he was arguing with two ardent parts of himself and almost going into calm frenzy. "It's alright."

"In the Deep Roads," he said quickly, with a deep voice.

Fenris finally found the courage to look at her, but his calm face bore through the cracks of his mask a very distinct turmoil. Of her laughing at him. Or being so impetuously and in a negative way astounded by his progressively growing weakness for her, a mage of all people. He waited for her answer with cold eyes and covered fear.

Hawke's mouth widened and her eyebrows lifted highly, "Well I'll be a Chantry granny, your timing was perfect."

"It was?"

"Yes. Well…" Hawke looked away and pressed her lips. "When you were dying," she said and looked at him with sad, tormented eyes reliving the memory, "as I saw you there so terribly beaten, six giant roaring wounds on you, blood spilling out like cascades from each hole," she said with sudden pain in her voice, gesturing everything graphically, "betraying the undeniable clarity of your death soon enough… "I couldn't-" she laughed at herself, "I couldn't picture you dying. It simply…" she gestured with an open palm, "had the fullness of catastrophe."

This was a much better answer than I could have ever expected of you, his face said. He wanted to kiss her, his face also said. But he turned that kiss and laboured it into words, "There is no more mystery now, to why I had not felt a thing through my markings when you healed me."

Hawke smiled with her lips parted, showing teeth, a genuine smile. "Yes, fascinating indeed, is it not? How this honest willingness for me to save you, even back then when everything with us seemed to be quarrel, just argument and torment. And even with my clumsy magic. But I could have been just as dead, had you not found the strength to swoop into the dragon and cut its neck." She looked down because he was smiling at her widely for once and she was frightened. "I wasn't then and I'm not, as strong as you think me, Fenris."

"Yet you are here, are you not?" Fenris said nonchalantly. "And finding me crushed, you gave me your strength to save me."

It was a cold answer, lacking in flattery or kindness, yet it seemed quite enough. A statement enough in itself, and it struck her then that he was so very different than the first conception she had of him.

She nodded, and as she looked at him, a lovely smile broke over his face, and for one moment Fenris seemed to fall into a dreaminess which brought back all the memories of their quarrels and their peaceful conversations, the healing, the argument about his stubborn pretense, as they escaped the Deep Roads, that he was only there to repay his debt, her disappearance, her return at the banquette, their dance, their night on the roof, her bold expression of her care for him then, her drunken groping and his brutal tease, her honest backrubs with no other advances, the mornings they shared together in their hangovers drinking tea, her seductive assault on top of his back when she remembered his petty moves on her when she had been drunk that one night, when she figured out he did not know how to read and stood with patience by him as he tried to mutter the words out from the many books she gave him, when he struggled and growled, ready to throw the pen away as he tried to write, because his letters were far more hideous than her beautiful handwriting, how she pressed on his arm and forced him patiently, almost motherly, not to give up. _Just take a breath and look around. And start anew. _

He told her he didn't know how, that his first memory was receiving those markings, the agony being etched into his skin and wiped away everything. His life before, whatever it was, it was lost. He told her he shouldn't trouble her with this, that his problems were not hers. She only grinned truthfully telling him his problems could be hers for she was going to give him plenty soon enough. He could only smile honestly and welcome it. Little did he know, just what would follow.

"Were you happy again at least?" Hawke asked tiredly. He didn't answer. "Remember what I taught you. Reach into the depths of your soul. Tell yourself that you are free. Tell yourself that death and mercilessness have no power over you. A glorious thing has befallen you, you had escaped, and it is enough that you did, you said so yourself. You could become forever free, even if you have those wolves at your back and coming with delay to hunt you down. They do not matter. None of it does. Except this: the wolf you deliberately keep on your back, always. That is what's going to kill you. I can only help you with the actual wolves, but I will not force you to change your conceptions. This, I promise."

– **Gap –**

I was leaning, half about to faint. The air was rosy and golden, purely Antivan. The dark narrow street was warm, much as was the wall my back had been shoved against as brutally as it was enthralling. I felt Fenris's lips on mine, and his warm tongue moving serpentlike into my mouth. A liquid so rich like a burning nectar, a feel so exquisite that I felt it roll through my body to the very tips of my fingers thrusting in his back. I felt it descend through my torso and into the most private part of me. I burned. I burned.

"You may not be a Valkyrie," Fenris said in-between the heated kiss, panting his hot breath on my neck, pertaining to my first name, "Nor a saint," he continued with his deeply dark voice, pertaining to my second name, _ah-_ his fingers tightened as he caressed my face, "but you're certainly a crude temptress," he growled cruelly with a dark grin and rapidly thrust his spikes into my-

"Am _I-hhh_," I gasped deadly, my eyes going through the back of my head, but he was merciless.

"If I ever saw one," he finished confidently.

I couldn't – uh, I couldn't. How did we get here, I don't know, but I allowed it. Did I start this? It didn't seem to matter. Fenris managed yet again to inflame me with such heartless lack of concern for my permissions. I knew once I lured the tiger out of his mountain, they would mean nothing to him. His touch, his touch only burned with undisguised desire.

"Kiss me," I whispered commandingly. "Kiss me again."

He obeyed me, and soon had me ravished. And as my fingers tightened in his rampant hair, his kisses grew more fervent. His lips bore my violent bites and he grew bloodred with his cresting passion.

He suddenly withdrew, kissing my forehead as though I was chaste again.

"No," I revolted aggressively. "You're not done," I said confidently, as if I was some cruel dominatrix. I quickly regretted giving him orders.

"I am not about to take advantage of you," Fenris said firmly, then he drew a sensual smirk that showed only one or two of his sharp teeth, "_further._"

"You don't have to." I wrapped my arms roughly around his neck again and he tried to free himself from me, giving me an angry look. "Isn't this little challenge just the perfect testament to how much a warrior can control himself?"

Fenris narrowed his eyes and took a step closer, his eyes again only an inch from mine. "And how many challenges do you want to give me before I give in?"

"As many as you can bear," I said playfully. "This is not the last."

"So you do mean to tempt me," Fenris said sharply, his gauntlet tightening his grip on my hand.

"I always set out to do nothing," I said innocently. "And then look how it almost _always _turns out."

"I will not do anything further than that without honour anyway," Fenris said confidently. "Mind you, since I _am _a warrior."

"What do you mean?" I asked in confusion. Maker I wanted him so bad, I could've said anything just to make him go back to what he was doing.

Then his eyes flinched with an evil realization that he could tease me into it. Maker damn his demonic eyes. Maker damn him to eternity.

His hand reached for the back of my hip and he grinned widely, "I'm not proposing marriage, but I do need a word out of you." He went for my neck and shocked the skin again with his remarkably sharp teeth and hot lips only a man from the tropic lands of the north could possess. And I could almost hear the end of his sentence _and I am yours. _What was I doing, no. Mother of commitments, he was playing with me. I would not give in.

His entire demeanour altered at my silence, because without bearing out words, I was practically letting him see in my eyes I wanted to… to make him mine. He softened and I could see he was just on the verge of hope, hope that at I might be good to him.

I brought his face away from my neck. "And you mean to torture me until I do, yes?" I asked perceptively, with a hint of hate for him in my words.

Fenris tilted his head to the side and fiercely grinned in my hands, "Hopefully that will not be necessary." He shoved my hands away nonchalantly and continued his satanic kisses.

I struggled. "And if I don't, you'll never lay touch on me again?" I asked innocently, trying to remain undaunted.

He stopped his lips and looked at me with the back of his eye in terrible silence, cursing at me in his mind for pointing out the obvious that he would probably break his word.

"I am not your servant," he almost hissed calmly. "If you want a whore, there's plenty right across the street."

"So I can pay you?" I asked sarcastically, but pretending to ask in innocent tone.

His eyes shrunk in anger and impatience, and again, I regretted my playing around. But he was doing the same thing, a move so petty as to demand of me things right in the middle of a heated encounter. So he could strike so low sometimes. Yes, he would be cruel because he had no experience, at least as far as I knew, and the familiar territory of attacking each other was indeed, familiar.

"So this is how it is? I don't say the word, you're not giving it up? I swear there's something poetic in it somewhere," I said sarcastically.

He leaned his hand against the wall next to my face. "Just watch me," Fenris said confidently with narrowed, unyielding dark eyes, throwing the gauntlet, as it were.

I smiled undauntedly and shrugged, "Then I'm not going to force this. You don't have to do anything you don't desire to," I played strategically, with careful words.

"Semantics," Fenris hissed with narrowed hateful eyes and shook his head, pushing me aggressively against the wall.

"Indeed, I am an expert at it," I mocked him confidently, since he was such an expert at it too. "Just watch me. I'm a blazon of chastity." I raised my palms in peace and turned the table, assuring him I wouldn't press it and it wouldn't affect me that he was withholding from continuing anything in the way things were.

"What in the name of the Black City can it be?" Fenris asked angrily. "Whatever is it that frightens you, tell me. Hawke, there's nothing that can't be changed. Tell me."

"Oh, you're so violent in your temper," I said in a whisper. "Can't you guess what reduces me to this abominable weakness?"

"No," Fenris hissed angrily. "I know only that you are frightened and I must understand it." Then he sighed and had dazed a sorrowful look. "And I must be patient with it."

"And until then this beautiful white hair of yours might finally suit the age," I said subtly, and in a perfectly miserable voice as I ran my fingers through it.

Fenris sighed shortly, boiling in frustration. I could see it. He gave me an angry glance that was enough to render me powerless. "You're terrible," he whispered painfully and brought me to his lips. "Terrible," he kept muttering after each time he bit my lip shortly. And just when he was about to moan from my touch, he contained it, drew away from me and struck me a firm, dark grin with his eyes. "I shall abuse of you with pitiful limitation then."

He was drunk, so deeply drunk, but impressing in his apparent control before the absolute carnal which we both wanted to feel. However, he was also limiting himself in more than that way and I knew it. Even if I were indeed, ready to make of him an honest man, even if I were at peace with my tortured soul and welcomed him fully in my world as my partner in everything, he was still withholding something. A terrible story. And as long as that stood, I would only be a sensuous, beautiful get-away and nothing more. If he didn't trust me to understand his past, well, I didn't trust him either. As much as I did, as much as he inspired in me the most complete devotion.

I kissed him again, and whispered in his ear, calculatingly, devil that I am, "I need you, Fenris."

"Hmph," Fenris snorted at me with unimpressed eyes. "Do you now?" I can't say what controlled rage or desperation prompted this question. And disbelief.

"Just for the sake of it, I confessed it to you. Do with it what you will," I said confidently, trying to ease this out. I'm lying though, that was not the ultimate purpose. I just had to say it, even though it changed nothing.

He was genuinely shocked. Good sign. His eyes really widened. He furrowed his brow.

His face darkened. I couldn't name the emotions that seemed to pass over his expression, the sadness, indecision, confusion and ultimate perplexity that transformed him.

– **Gap –**

Oh SHIET. Yes, I remember how we got there in such demonic frenzy! Yes, how foolish of me!

Reverse time and just for the sake of it, I'll narrate in the third person, because even as I am drunk, I am not horny, no. I'm not driven in this memory, just yet, by some utterly enveloping thought of making him mine. Let it simply be, that I, just as you, saw this memory as if I was some point outside of it, watching from a polite distance.

An Antivan man started holding a procession in the street. His voice was marvellous, that of a pure tenor, as he started singing and interrupted their little conversation. Grand, huge annoyance drew on Fenris's face as this man's voice resounded in the piazza. Wasn't it curfew already?

Hawke could swear he would start violently hissing any moment now. But she was too busy listening to this man dressed in fine red Antivan garments, his face that of some mannish angel seeking to possess the crowd that stopped to watch him. There were _people, _in the street! They hardly noticed. Now the reality was ever more striking.

"Oh, if only I knew Antivan," Hawke said with a bitter smile, drawing a lamenting grimace.

"Antivan is much in its respect, rank gutter-Tevene," Fenris said calmly, tilting his head to his side as if he was trying to make out the words.

"Can you make out the words, then?" Hawke asked innocently, a bit of pleading in her voice, because she seemed enchanted by the song.

Fenris cleared his throat shortly, his brows joined in an analysing frown, "I shall try."

She could only fathom something about the sun, and "luce" which probably meant light or something of the sort. And "con me", which could only mean "with me." The man voiced the apparent chorus again with such splendour, such rampant love for whatever he was singing about, one could easily be deceived by this warmth. It was the Antivan poetic warmth for everything and everyone.

Fenris's voice came serene and deep, as if the words were his own, "You and me. With you I will leave." Hawke looked and listened to him alarmed of his courageous translation.

He rested on his arm on the edge of the fountain, looking at the man and continued, "Countries," he said calmly, "which I have never," then he paused to clear his throat, "seen and lived with you."

Then Fenris remained perplex for a second, as if he couldn't make out the next bit, but attempted at it with unyielding perseverance for Hawke's sake, "Now, yes, I will leave them…" he looked at her for a second innocently with the back of his eye, "With you, I will leave."

He frowned again, deciphering the next bit, but quickly continued, "On ships across seas? Which I know… No, no, they no longer exist."

Hawke contained her smile and listened to him in awe of his strive to make of the words for her. He continued with a bit of a faint smile, "With you I will live them."

The tenor started singing a stanza again very quickly and Fenris lifted his eyebrows and gasped for breath, almost ready to admit defeat. Hawke smiled at him warmly as if to say, don't do it anymore, it's alright. I get the main theme. But Fenris was never one to give up and in this impossible drive in him for honour had authority over his brain. He brushed the hair fastidiously from his forehead and concentrated, "Uh, when you are… far away? I dream," he paused to regain his wits, "on the horizon, and words fail."

Hawke chuckled only quietly at his innocent struggle and encouraged him to go further. He tried. He tried. He almost burst into laughter himself from this nonsense, but then finally muttered after sighing, "And I do know that you are," he looked at Hawke again just for a second with the back of his eyes, "with me."

She tried to look away, as if to not make him feel too self-conscious of his concentration, but just as she moved her look away, a warm hand came over hers on the edge of the fountain. Fenris only grinned softly, seeming more like a brat prince, the Knight of Roses, ever than before, and only continued in his velvety, deep voice, "You, my Moon, you are here with me." Maybe he grinned because he remembered her bearing the name Sir Luna Rosebud in her childhood play, maybe he grinned innocently because he simply and felt like it, chivalrously deterred as a young driven man in his apparent courting of Hawke.

Hawke didn't flinch, rather she just trembled in excitement of his knightly move. He continued, "My sun, you are here with me," then he only faintly swayed his head and lifted his eyebrows a bit mockingly, or maybe just in tune with the melody, "With me, with me, with me."

She smiled childishly at his melodic swaying, now only faintly with his whole torso, but when he saw her watching him, he stopped awkwardly, grinning for a second. Fenris continued the same chorus, even though Hawke knew it by now, perhaps to make the words really seem his, "With you, I leave. On ships across seas, which I know and no, no, they no longer exist." Fenris squeezed Hawke's hand. "With you I will live them again."

The tenor finished with a loud, powerful vibrato _Io con te_, at which Fenris smirked arrogantly and tried maybe to become cold again, but couldn't win the little battle within himself any longer. As the Antivan man ended his song, the last three words Fenris spoke, "I," he said in a deep, determined voice and brought Hawke's hand to kiss it knightly, "with you."

– **Gap –**

"Well now," I said cockily as I separated from his warm lips. Me, a vagabond mage so sophisticated in my barbarism, in this Antivan abandoned corner of the world, a brat queen of the undercity _and _the higher classes.

"Well now," I said. "There's a great mystery here and you know it. It's time you told me."

He growled furiously. "What?" he asked obligingly as he got interrupted from his boyish desire.

"What's it that you haven't told me? I can feel it on your lips, you want to tell me. Not about me or us, but about you," I demanded perceptively.

He didn't want to answer. I saw he wasn't ready and was refusing me powerfully with his eyes even if his face bore no emotion of such grandeuor.

"Fine," I pressed a bit cockily, because I was drunk and merciless. "Then maybe I should seek to make you feel something else, to change this tormented face of yours."

His eyes grew colder and more beautifully calm. "What is it that you want me to feel, hm?" he whispered deeply, as he still had me pushed tight against the wall.

"You play with me and I'm the toy that feels all things. It's not fair," I said playfully. "Let me- "

I wanted to go for his pants to torture him, but he took my hand. He took my fingers and put them to his lips, and drew them across his strong jaws. He kissed them as he did so and I didn't want to let him win.

Quite enough, said his eyes, quite enough.

"Not quite enough," I said cockily. I managed to put my hand between his legs. Oh, he was wonderfully hard. That was not uncommon, of course, but he wouldn't let me take him further, because of course, he wouldn't break his word. This was no honour. How could he, though, when I played so dirty. I wanted him to choose either to confess whatever he was holding back or let me play him with wickedness, because he deserved it.

Maybe don't tease the tiger when you can't even account for the last hours from your day. Clearly, I was not in the brightest frame of mind. Nor was he. I was so drunk, helplessly in his arms. How the hell did we even end up here, alone and … _alone_?

"Hawke," he said insistently, his lips on my throat as they'd come quite a few times before, only this time there came a sting, sharp, swift and gone. A bite so hard that a thread stitched into my heart and was jerked all of a sudden. His mouth nestled against me, and again, that thread of shock snapped again. He shoved me harder against the wall and went back to kissing me, quickening my heart and jolting my everything as his tongue swirled like a serpent into mine.

"So that's the twist you put on it, isn't it?" I asked perceptively because I was impressed, in-between the heat and kisses.

"Not quite," he said darkly, his voice hoarsely filled with arousal, "But I can show you further, if you wish."

I didn't really know how to answer this. He didn't ignore my hesitation though. For all this brutal demeanour of his, he still awaited knightly for my permissions, now I finally understood. "Show me."

But then I can't remember exactly what he did, except that it had something to do with his lyrium glow, his hand and _oh-_ The world moved out from under me. I gasped and drifted, and my eyes opened and saw nothing as he shut his mouth over mine again.

"Fen -_rhis, _you're killing me," I whispered. I tossed somewhere in him, seeking to find some firm place in this dreamy intoxication void. My body just churned and rolled with pleasure, my limbs tightening then floating, my whole body issuing from him, from his lips, through my lips, my body his very breath and his sigh.

At last, his hand became like iron. There came the sting, there came the spikes, the blade, tiny and sharp beyond measure, puncturing my soul. I twisted on it as if I'd been skewered. Oh, this could teach the gods of love what love was. This was my deliverance if I could but survive whatever he was doing with his markings on me so viciously bad.

Blind and shaking I was wed to him. I was going to burst, _burst. _I felt his hand cover my mouth, and only then heard my cries as they were muffled away. I wrapped my hand around his neck, pressing him against me harder, "Do it again."

– **Gap –**

**- (you hate me for these gaps don't you) -**


	11. I Am Fenris And I Am Angry

She is obsessed. She brings this symbol of all that is deranged, obnoxious and revolting. She brings in me this liberation, this sense of absolute security while I am in her presence, drawing in me the most complete loyalty to her, that I simply cannot define. That I can trust her, perhaps? Wait… why I am telling you this? Perhaps because I am angry, so angry that I could build an orphanage for stray puppies and kittens and then smash it to the ground without a speck of mercy. That is so, how angry I am. _Kaffas. _

I suppose I could go on with my monologue, pretending your existence is ultimately void and in so, shall not affect my present view of things, nor the current mood I am in. **It is already ruined**. And after all, you might agree – it is rather pointless for me to suggest keeping your distance.

I am Fenris and I am angry.

_Venhedis. _Yes, why not even look at me too?_ Fasta vass,_ just bite me.

Swallow the image of my misery in full graphic richness like the sadistic painter that you are. I am disgusted by you. Alas, I presently do not give a damn.

I'm leaning with my arms against the window of my room in the palazzo or inn or whatever this ridiculous house is called, staring the city and the night with possibly nothing less than murder in my eyes. Yes, terrible murder. I wish I could murder somebody starting with Hawke and ending with _bitch. _No, not whore, not slut, not thundercunt, a word I learned from her actually, none of those. I would never call her that. Then again, I would never call her the original word either, even though she deserved it.

Behold, your shadow of a hero for the duration; wanting so viciously and desperately to rip these crimson red curtains off, throw the vase from the desk into the wall, punch the glass of the window in front of me. Because I don't know_ where_ she is.

Varric insisted she would come back, that we couldn't wonder for the whole of Antiva City in hopes we'd find her somewhere passed out in the gutter. It was dangerous enough as it is to even linger in this city after what he had done.

Don't even dare to look at me.

Do not _dare._

I could kill you. You are well aware of this. Iam _this close _to crushing the veins of your heart in my hand until they burst with blood spilling like a fountain as your guts flush out and _dare _to stain my clothes. And because you dare, I will throw you to the nearest wall and as you fall down and bathe in your own filthy blood I will spit on you. I have no mercy at this moment. _Opifex, creatores, caelestes et daemonia telluris sordidis. _No, I will not tell you what all these words mean, you will just have to ever so nicely make the effort of getting your own damned dictionary.

Oh, you wonder what has happened? Well that's perhaps my role in this story – to fill in the gaps of this stupid woman who somehow _always _manages to give me a stroke.

I have been through so much in my technically short life – I'd been tortured, I'd been resisted pains so harsh you would melt into your own skin and bones and beg for death were you in my place, I'd starved for months and found myself on the brink of death so many times and _never _did any of those things manage to startle or unsettle me. But no, I, the king of all the mighty idiots and fools, I get unsettled by a clown mage who knows nothing but to keep making me feel perhaps _too alive _for my own health.

I'd hit myself if I wasn't certain the boiling fury channelling in my fist would be more than enough to punch me out unconscious. I had to stay up and eternally vigilant, feeling like I had needed three sets of eyes to properly oversee every corner of this damn street under my window in hopes I would spot a forsaken fucking red crown of long beautiful hair which unfortunately rested on top of a head so furiously _empty. _So, so scandalizingly empty.

No, it is quite clear why I am spitting words at you, betraying the very principles of my being that I would _never _give out a word, that I would not let anyone penetrate my thoughts in this manner. Oh, but Hawke managed to deflower me in this domain, why not let you all – yes, why not? Come and disturb my thoughts, revile me, strip my soul naked here and look at me while you ravish yourself in delight of my bestial anger. Yes, yes, laugh at me.

No, I do not mean to mock you. I do it unintentionally, it is simply so unnatural for me to take you seriously or show an ounce of respect at the moment. And if your keen intelligent mind hasn't figured me out by now, perhaps I have to spell it out for you now that I seem to be such a expert at something so cruelly mundane as writing.

Should I spell it with utmost patience, accentuating every little syllable perhaps?

No, I suppose I do not need to make such strong efforts. Because I am _angry. _This is why I am speaking now.

She barges in here spitting her venomous monologues because she is a witch and a drunk, while I come here because I am deeply and preposterously blind with fury, you cannot even begin to imagine.

Oh, behold. Joys of joys, I have found the word I was looking for in this ridiculously sounding common tongue. **Preposterous. **

Every time, _kevesh_, every time. Maker be damned, every time I come near to even the slightest chance of recognition, that she is _not _disturbed, she swoops in and does something terribly idiotic, shattering this general misconception of mine, outright damning it to the lowest depths of oblivion. _Fasta vass._ Oh, how the Heavens laugh at me. She manages to obliterate all my honest efforts, however foolish, to consider her sane. Damn you to eternity Hawke. You insane, impossible little woman that corrupts every bit of my being and makes me want to howl in desperation to give me back my brain.

Ah, but words fail.

Indeed, but I should correct myself. Common tongue words fail. There are enough in Tevinter, old Tevane and Arcanum to describe this damned demonic fiend of the black death. _Femina stulta, damnataque, festev canavoras ce raptum me caput de ultima capitis. _

I am shaking my head, biting at my lip. I feel the blood coming out. Nectar of the old gods, it is the blood, was it not… Kevesh. Why am I even thinking about such things now?

I've learnt lessons. Granted, not very well. I only hate to see her die.

And this damned overgrown hair itching my forehead and my nose like bloody spears, _futueres in profundissimem carnem, vishante capillatura._

I should cut it. Cut it all out. At least it would strip me of taking much notice or remembering that the ritual from which my being was born, my miscreation and first memory, was so deeply agonizing that it shocked the very colour off the hair on top of my head. And other hair? It is gone. It never grows anywhere on my body. I feel like a damned woman. _Kaffas._

I glanced rapidly in disgust at my reflection in the window; never did the moonlight flatter me so little as in this moment, if it ever did so, in my foolish misconceptions that I should believe Hawke and her very rare flatteries. I turned my head to my right and beheld Hawke's sword. Oh, you think she took it with her? _That_'s how grand and frustrating the gravity of the situation is. She didn't even take her sword. I carried it here, even though in my anger I would have very much enjoyed to toss right it in the sewers.

I couldn't get over the sight of that sword. It was as unique as her, or lest I wouldn't exaggerate – rare. Basilisk skin steel, the spitting image of a kitchen knife magnified some thirty times larger, dark and maintained in the perfect condition. She would sharpen it on a regular basis with the same glorious mastery as her ruthless techniques and powerful strikes. She could teach the gods of war what fighting was. Of course, right now – in a fair fight, with my inhibitions so little in control, I could kill her, I swear I could.

To this very night of my life, some seven, maybe nine years of my life, I can't even tell – but for two and about a half now if I am correct in my frenzy, I still have a weakness for this very sword. Which makes me feel like some sort of freak, replacing her with an object to delight my fancy in her absence because that is all I can behold of her at the moment. Fasta vass. I was troubled, panic-stricken.

The blood red band wrapped around its pummel, to be more precise, made it so special. It reminded me of her hair and of fire, a symbol of her resistance and liberation. Ah, why does it haunt me?

I went over and grabbed the sword leaning against the wall next to my own. Mine was quite fitting of my despicable self. She had quite the keen eye in choosing it for me. Yes, it was a gift from her, one of many that I had come to accept with gratitude. The last gift from her was a journal. I thought it was a joke, I became angry, then finally swallowed my foolish drive to protest and thanked her properly. She always managed to make me shut up and accept. Because she knew that **I**did not desire sympathy. I desired understanding and that is all she did allow herself to give me. She said she might not have been able to return my memories, but this could help me make new ones. And oh, how many memories I had already had and cherished and all were of her. How many I had wished and still wish to create if she would but allow me to.

But I don't know if I could be the naive one for long. I was ecstatic, of course. For the journal, for the sword. I had not merely a sword, but one specially made for me, as I understand. And it was not a waste of money, I dare say.

It was much different than the usual Tevinter form of swords. Tevinters made their swords in a narrow V shape, a testament to sharpness and symmetry, and ultimately, the inevitable symbol of perfection.

But this sword was much perfection in itself. Clean silver steel, rectangular, only at the very tip ending in small and sharp, and it bore many long and beautiful engravings. It shimmered in the light, which I enjoyed. And the pummel as straight, neat and black. Perfect.

Ah, but of course, that one separating detail did prevail – I was not perfect like this sword was. Memory would jolt me only to release me. Wasn't there a code to which I should remain faithful that somehow dictated these were artful lies? What I held so dearly, her memory, all of them. Holding onto them like a child. I couldn't get it clear in my head, and all around me was such happiness, yes, happiness. It seemed impossible that these simple acts of effortless communication between us could mask such absence, that it was ultimately not enough for her to just listen to me, the lack thereof. I am terrible. I didn't believe it.

Yet all pleasure to me was suspect. I was dazzled when I could not give in, and overcome when I did surrender, and as the days followed I surrendered with ever greater ease all the time, as you can see.

Such trust. Of course, I was wolfish to the others, and pretty much wolf to myself. But how she could turn me into a little lamb. I did not hate it – she did not make me feel like her slave. By far, on the contrary. She always pressed without a word, through all her bone-hard actions, just how free I was.

Well, no more. No more, no more, no more. Fear and worry, terrible anguish had swallowed me whole and thrown me forth here, holding Hawke's sword, and after examining the simplicity of the basilisk skin, I untangled the red band from its pummel.

I held it in my hand, shimmering blood red in the light of the brass lamp. I probably looked perplexed. But I rolled my eyes, almost hissing at myself – Fool. Just do it.

Not only did I like it, but it was the only thing to help me at the moment. I took a hold of the little overgrown hair and brought it whole at the back of my head, wrapping the red band around it to hold it in place. Well now, with this thick band, there was almost no hair to be held by it, but fastened it harder and it the material narrowed and finally, ignoring the many threads of hair that quickly got out of the small tail and again, back in my face, I took a seat at the desk and opened the journal.

I did not get to write a lot. Apart from her only sentence on the first page

_Moving on a simple thing – what it leaves behind is hard._

_You know the sleeping feel no more pain, and the living, they are scarred._

_But take a breath, look around. Start anew, start about. _

_Get to work, go to bed. Get a life, get a grip. _

_It's the time of your life, yours alone and only yours_

_In the garden of your heart, where the tree of life grows._

_So, please smile when you think about me. I try, I try. I know. Let it be._

_These are the last words_

_I'll ever speak_

And the first words I had written, the only sentence I dared to write and in so, ruin the page with my hideous penmanship : _And they'll set me free. _

I started to write.

"So long as one does not feel that one is in some way dependent, one considers himself independent –a false conclusion that shows how proud a man can be, how eager for dominion. For he hereby assumes he would always be sure to observe and recognize dependence so soon as he suffered it, the preliminary hypothesis being that he generally lives in independence, and that, should he lose that independence for once in a way, he would immediately detect a contrary sensation. That is I and that is Hawke. Or at least I brought myself to think so about the nature of her fear, because just as I, she was so fiercely independent.

Suppose however, the reverse to be true – that he is always living in a complex state of dependence, but thinks himself free where, through long habit, he no longer feels the weight of the chain? He only suffers from new chains, and 'free will' really means nothing more than an absence of feeling of new chains. Was that also true for me?"

I struggled and as soon as I finished the paragraph, I realized that my writing started calm and careful and ended aggressive and scribbled, just like hers. And now I understand why.

Because we two are such cerebral beings that we simply have no hope for possessing even the slightest bit of emotional intelligence. And that is very dangerous. I wrote this and continued. Why dangerous, you may ask? The answer is that I was now more than ever susceptible to love, and when seen with loving eyes I knew it somehow and at this moment, in not knowing where she was, it was killing me and I had to slow the very beats of my heart which was pumping in my chest like a Chantry bell.

Words started coming to me, memories, lines of old. I wanted to write them down, lest I ever forget, lest I become even more of an idiot than my present excelling at being one.

For reddish locks such as these, for eyes of the deepest brown and most understanding green. For skin like the fresh cream of the milk in the morning; for lips indistinguishable from the petals of a rose.

_A memory_. "How long do you think I've wandered this Earth?" she asked angrily. "Do you know how many times it had crossed my mind in carelessness and wanton temper to seek somebody that could even for a second, even for just one sodding second, understand me? And get closer to that being? But did not find one and did not do it just for sake of it either, Fenris. Not until my eyes fell upon you."

I wrote in my own words now – "I was hardly immune to her appeal. At times, I found it downright difficult to be in her presence, so fresh and lovely and inviting did she seem. She had a way of looking luscious in austere garments, her breasts large and high, her legs rounded and tapered exquisitely beneath her modest hem. There were times in which I became miserable in my desire for her. I cursed the fact that fear had not yet delivered me from such torment and boyish desire, and did all that I could so that she might never guess. I think she knew it, however, and in her own way, she was merciless."

_Another memory_. I was in awe of her and I needed her. But in our verbal combat, I had always, no matter how emotional, played the role of the superior mind who was in no need of her seemingly irrational discourse, which I made it to appear so as if I was talking to a child, only to be overthrown with the same logic, with my own weapon. And always with evident affection. I remember the very day she gave me her strength. How she argued with me. She said, "Don't make a religion of reason and logic. Because in the passage of time reason may fail you and when it does, you may find yourself taking refuge in madness." I was so offended by these words coming from the mouth of this beautiful woman whose eyes so entranced me that I could scarce follow her thoughts.

_Another. _"Your eyes are green when the fire catches them," I wanted to say once to you. "Oh, but they are lustrous and dark, two glossy mirrors in which I see myself even as they keep their secrets, these dark portals of a rich soul."

Perhaps. Don't expect wisdom from me as it might come from you, or the Father you quote on so many occasions with perfect memory.

"You draw me to you, to make you write," you said.

"Why?" I asked in confusion, because your remark was abruptly said and without much further ado, even if it bore necessity for it.

You smiled patiently, your voice was not commanding. "Because you do have a story inside you; it lies articulate and waiting to be written—behind your silence and your suffering."

"You are too romantic, friend," I said, almost regretting how defensive I was.

You waited patiently. I think you could feel the tumult in me, the shivering of my soul in the face of so much new emotion.

"It's such a small story," I said. I saw images, memories, moments, the stuff that can incite or kill souls to inaction as well as creation. But then I saw the very faintest possibility of faith.

I think you already knew the answer. You knew what I would do when I did not.

You smiled discreetly, but you were eager and waiting. I looked at you and thought of trying to write it, write it all out . . .

"You want me to leave now, don't you?" you said. You rose, collected your rain-spattered coat and bent over gracefully kiss my forehead.

My hands were clutching, one at the journal and one at your hand.

"No," I said without further ado, "I can't let you."

Why do I have to remember these things? Shove them on a piece of paper as if I am writing the chronicles of my life?

When she painted me, towards the end, I went to her because I couldn't control myself anymore. I was full of impatience, my face I kept impassive.

"You barely looked at me. You capture my likeness so keenly from memory," I said as I went to bend towards her sitting on the chair. I saw no reason to talk endlessly. I wanted to give up on my reserve of aloofness, I was tired of planting kisses on her cheek that conveyed only softness and control, I was tired of trying to hold her with a cold embrace, only because the real touch of me would have her destroyed. Thank the gods we were interrupted.

She had never even once touched my markings. I found it a bit too poetic, but I was far from ungrateful. It was even miraculous for me that I allowed anyone to touch me, but even so, her touch. Her touch was either soft or a bit of aggressive, but it conveyed goodness to me. It was as if dexterously avoiding the lyrium markings, she touched only what was good of me. But even if she did touch those too, it would have been simple – because everything she touched turned into something good.

Oh, she's not a saint, and I am not a romantic. Understand, I am only speaking facts.

Her magic? Well, I still stumble with my conceptions. It is not as if I am a hypocrite, excusing her and judging everyone else. I always made it clear to her and to our companions that I was not throwing blind accusations on innocents. I was being cautious, because any mage one should fear. Until he proved himself not to be a weak, there was no point in presuming innocence. But even without presumption of such innocence, I did not attack. None of them attacked. That was testament that I was not driven to be blinded by fallacies and generalizations.

Now, for the subject of my fancy – I do not know what to say. I see her as a being, not even a human, let alone a mage. She proved herself, until now, that she was not weak. Although, in my secretiveness, I was concerned. Why? Because although I admired her predicament of rejecting the use of magic, it proved at times that this was dangerous. She only came to me some nights, frustrated and panic-stricken, because she hated training. She had to be honest, she had to train, for the sake of everyone's safety. But I saw how much torment burned in her soul because of it and I didn't know what to do. She, a struggling abstinent mage, came to me, the last person who in the larger scheme of things would not welcome understanding.

But in a way, I did understand. Even more, at times I felt ridiculous, because it seemed as though I was the one bringing sanity to the equation. Sanity, understand, towards the subject of magic. She would become so angry at times as to revolt against it entirely, she would tell me it was a curse and sometimes she wanted to die, but that was no privilege she could allow herself.

And I felt ridiculous and touched by the grandest form of irony – I, Fenris, felt like slapping her across the face to wake her up from this overreaction, this insane protest. Not because I did not want her gone, but because she put so much needless pressure on herself. If she ranted about being fearful of getting possessed, using blood magic, things of this sort, it would have been only sane. But her dejecting reaction and the sum of her contempt was placed upon all magic.

And yet, she was good. She was patient. She took care of me more than she took care of herself, as foolish as it may appear. I couldn't be more grateful.

I remember a conversation of ours on my roof, lying next to each other without any other moves. This was about a year or more ago. I was the shadow and she was the light.

I put my hands nonchalantly under my head and said, "Oh, but I am but a shadow of a man."

She smirked, "And what? Am I supposed to be, the light?"

"Well, not that I put such stock in names, but," I said with a smirk, being for once relaxed. "You could live up to your name, Bianca. It certainly wouldn't be a terrible thing."

Hawke lifted her hand up to the sky, gesturing dramatically, but telling the truth, "And you're the great shadow, lying in a prison, only dreaming to unchain yourself from the brooding, self-loathing, self-destructive man that possesses the shadow, right?"

I hesitated, feeling penetrated, but I couldn't contradict her, "Thus it seems I am terrible at being myself."

"To lie still and think little is the cheapest medicine for all diseases of the soul, and, with the aid of good-will, becomes pleasanter every hour that it is used," Hawke said to me.

My eyebrow arched into surprise, "Another one of your Father's sayings?"

"Actually no. The Hero of Ferelden said it. Or so Anders led me to believe, one very tumultuous night when I sunk in deep brooding."

"You really fancy this woman, do you not?" I asked perceptively.

"I admire the Warden, don't look too much into it," Hawke said confidently.

"There is danger in admiration," I said calmly. "From excessive admiration for the virtues of others one can lose the sense of one's own, and finally, through lack of practice, being too busy in admiring others, lose these virtues themselves."

Hawke grimaced at me, to which I could only smirk and continue my explanation, "The admiration of a quality may be so strong as to deter you from aspiring to possess that quality."

"Then maybe you should admire me," she said and winked playfully. "So you would never wake up crazy or reckless."

I laughed shortly. "In the way you put it, yes, I should admire you."

"There's another way?" she asked.

I coughed defensively, "In the sense that I do, admire you, for other reasons, that are not so pitiable."

She shook her head and grinned. "You're not gonna tell me what those reasons are, will you?"

I turned my head to the night sky and shrugged, "I will let it be a mystery."

She pressed, oh she loved to press only rarely, but effectively, "Well, it certainly doesn't include my magic."

"You are terrible," I rolled my eyes, "you have more disregard for your magic than I generally do. You shed so much irony on me, it's deeply embarrassing."

"Wha?"

"That I…"

"That you?"

I cleared my throat awkwardly. "That a mage saved me, that I enjoy her company. And now, this – that the manner in which this mage rejects her nature stretches to the extent of utter contempt, whereas I only mildly despise it out of mere cautiousness."

She raised an eyebrow. I could feel a psychological analysis coming about. "I could say the same thing about you. Also, I could say the reverse about what you just said."

I lifted my eyebrows. "What?"

"That I am more understanding and merciful of other mages even if I am not so to myself, whereas you are almost in complete lack of it, no? And that _you _are too hard on yourself."

"My vision may be flawed, I will not deny that," I said calmly.

"It's a defect of standpoint, not of vision," Hawke said.

I blinked a few times. "What do you mean?"

"We always stand a few paces too close to ourselves and few paces too far from others. Hence we judge others too much in the lump, and ourselves too much by individual, occasional, insignificant features and circumstances. You understand?"

I smirked and said calmly, "It appears we are at the drinking-table of experience."

"Yes it appears so. Rather funny."

I corrected, "Ironic."

"Such a victim of irony, Fenris is," Hawke said sarcastically.

I laughed softly. "I enjoy comedy from time to time. I overly make use of sarcasm, if you haven't noticed. Maybe that's why this keeps happening to me."

She rolled her eyes. "And I was being sarcastic too. You have the great simplicity and the proper past to be a sort of dark comedian."

"Pardon?"

She gestured while she explained, "We slough past actions like the snake sloughs his skin. We are hereby easily seduced into becoming the comedians of our own past, and into throwing the old skin once more about our shoulders. It's not really vanity, as much as it is good-will and understanding towards our older stupid selves."

I turned my head up to the night sky again. "That is… one way of putting it."

Silence.

"Say something," Hawke demanded.

I didn't turn to look at her. "What do you wish me to say?"

"Something."

I smirked. "Something."

"No, not like that," she said and rolled her eyes. "But it's one way to break the ice."

It was then I felt this was amicable silence. "It is all better if we are both equally… forbearing towards each other when for once our reason is silent."

She didn't say anything for a good five seconds. "Huh?"

"Thus we shall avoid losing our tempers in conversation," I said with a playful smirk. "All in good memory of those 'stupid' selves from the past, which were easily 'seduced' into argument and torment. We shall not apply… " I looked at her and gestured, "….mutual stingy thumbscrews in the event of any word sounding unintelligible or revolting from the other. If one does not know exactly how to answer, it is enough to say _something. _Do you not agree?"

"I do. Those are the reasonable terms on which I hold conversation with any person. It's better than stretching out something past its limits," she said, finishing with a tone that conveyed annoyance.

I agreed, "Yes, during a long talk, the wisest of men becomes a fool once and a simpleton thrice."

"Your moderation is not flattering to those to whom you confess it," Hawke said a bit sarcastically.

I turned my head to my left to look at her, with a nonchalant voice, "Am I, then, to flatter?"

Hawke smiled only faintly. "I thought a man's shadow was his vanity. Surely vanity would never say 'Am I, then, to flatter?' "

I smiled too, "Nor does vanity so far as I am acquainted with it."

Hawke looked at me in awe. "You know, now I see for the first time very clearly how rude I am to you, my dear shadow," she said, but her tone was vague in its intent for mockery, "I have not said a word of my supreme delight in _hearing_ and not merely… seeing you."

"Oh?" I asked, the corner of my lips slightly drawing a smirk.

She explained subtly in a bold tone,"If you must know, I love shadows, even as I love light. For the existence of beauty of face, clearness of speech, kindliness and firmness in character, the shadow is as necessary as the light."

I rolled my eyes. "Are we to be rivals then?"

Hawke shook her head, "They are not opponents – rather do they hold each other's hands like good friends; and when the light vanishes, the shadow glides after it."

I smirked and deflected, because I would have taken her hand. "Is this a pompous way of saying you enjoy the sound of my voice?"

She also deflected, "Pretty much."

I tried to press on it though, "I think I understand you, although you sometimes express yourself in somewhat _shadowy _terms."

Hawke rolled her eyes, "We two give to each other here and there, both mean and peaceful remarks, as a sign of mutual understanding, don't you agree? Obscure phrases which to any third party is meant to be a riddle. And we are good friends, you and I. So enough preambles!"

She rose from her back and got a hold of her notebook and pen.

"Do you wish something of me, then?" I asked subtly with a smirk.

"Some few hundred questions answered, that so annoyingly oppress my little soul," Hawke said confidently, "And the time for you to answer them is perchance but short. Let's see how we may come to an understanding as quickly and peaceably as possible."

I smiled innocently, "But shadows are shier than men. You will not reveal to anyone the manner of our conversation?"

"_The manner _of our conversation? Maker preserve me from wire-down, literary dialogues! It's not like I'm going to write this down ad litteram. Real dialogue put to parcel is nothing but a sum of false perspectives. Everything is either too long or too short. Yet perhaps, I may reveal the _point on which _we have come to an understanding?"

I nodded amicably. "With that I am content. For everyone will only recognize your views once more, and no one will think of the shadow."

Hawke's eyes went in different directions and tilted her head. "Perhaps you are wrong. If they do read it, they would observe in my views more of the shadow than of me."

I grimaced, unimpressed. "More of the shadow than of the light? Is that possible?"

She almost wanted to hit me and I was prepared to defend myself. "Be serious, dear fool! My very first question demands seriousness."

"Ask away," I said nonchalantly.

"You despise the Alienage, and rightfully so; it reminds you of the cruelty elves face every day. But you are not one of them and you act as if they brought it to themselves – it's like you despise them and not the place they reside in – do you think they will look at you as a hypocrite for living in a mansion?"

"Those are a lot of questions," I said in amusement.

"Answer whichever one then," Hawke said nonchalantly.

I sighed and tried to be truthful. "I don't despise them, but I do despise being in that place. They can't help it, but, I don't see them making much effort to stand up for themselves. It's like these elves want to be seen as pitiable low-lives. As for the hypocrisy, no. I think humans are the ones who would be envious of me."

She frowned in curiosity. "Oh?"

I gestured and explained. "Well this 'envy of the gods' as we call it in Tevinter, about elves that become Liberati and get a few privileges for themselves, get by rather well, as it were," I gestured grumpily, "This envy arises when a despised person sets himself on an equality with his superior. In my case now, it is the human nobles in Hightown, and in Tevinter, it is the human magisters or patrons. I am made equal with humans by the favour of fortune. In the Imperial social class system, but just as well in Kirkwall, this envy demands that no one shall have merits above station, where I, an elf, should be thus a low-life, and that his prosperity shall be on a level with his position, more so especially that his self-consciousness shall not outgrow the limits of his rank."

"Oh, you're admitting that you enjoy it, finally?" Hawke asked with a smile.

"I don't enjoy it, not in the strongest sense of the word. But I do have to take pleasure in the small things," I said modestly, looking down. "However, these _borrowed _privileges can also arise in many the feeling of 'meritocrasy',horrendously privileged, and I don't dwell in that. I still prefer to lay low."

"Lay so low that your mansion outright falls, no?" Hawke asked in amusement.

"It is my way," I said firmly with a smirk.

"Fenris is unpardonable," Hawke said in amusement.

Ismirked and looked at her with the back of my eye, "You gave him an opportunity of displaying the greatness of his character, and the shadow thus made use of that opportunity," I said with a hint of deliberate arrogance, then my smile bore gratitude, "He will always thank you for that."

"You know you and my Father would have got along so well," Hawke said.

"So you keep subtly pointing," I said in entertainment.

Hawke shook her head and laughed, "Well, I can't help it. You remind me of him. Not for a general stoic attitude, but more of his views and his jokes. Well, you would have probably been annoyed with him for being a mage, but just like with me, you would have come around. I don't know… if not for that, at least for how strongly he felt for elves and slaves in particular."

I frowned, my curiosity risen. "Oh?"

Hawke cleared her throat, and exorted with affection in her eyes, remembering, "Kindly remember that he whom you call your slave sprang from the same stock, is smiled upon by the same skies, and on equal terms with yourself breathes, lives, and dies."

I looked at her curiously, she continued, "Father. Lothering was the proud town of some three or four elven families because of him, in a way. Two of them were former slaves, if you must know. I didn't know them very well, but I worked for them for a time."

"_You _worked for _them_?"

"Yes, I… well. One of the families had five children, only two of them of age at the time. They would leave Lothering once in a while to work as carriers, messengers or cooks for the army, and I would basically come by every day at their house and make sure they ate and drank and didn't set fire to the house. Well, yeah, basically I made sure they were alive and well."

"So you were a babysitter," I smirked with a mocking tone.

"Not much has changed," Hawke stung back with a smirk.

"The other elf I worked for was a master vanguard. At the time, I lacked considerably in control. I would strike with might and not much else and I wasn't quick. He took me in under his wing and developed in me these skills. 'Leviathan', people called him. But he was _retired_ and he didn't receive students either. I was a special case."

"As always," I said coldly.

"What's that supposed to mean? No, you know what? Doesn't matter," Hawke said. "I'm proud of catching his interest. He used to be deeply unimpressed. A vanguard believes that a good offense is the best defence. Ah, his strikes was so powerful, matched with ruthless technique. I was in awe of him."

I pressed to return. "You said you worked for him."

"Yes. Under his training, I would help him around the house, make deliveries, read him books because he was becoming long-sighted, stuff like that. The dirty work. Oh, but it was all worth it, even doing his laundry."

I raised an eyebrow, imagining it.

"Oh, boohoo. I used to look at the laundry and say 'Don't be sad laundry, nobody's doing me either'."

"Not much has changed," I said calmly.

"I won't lie, 'tis true. I am loner," Hawke said.

I pressed. "What does that have to do with satisfying your needs?"

"I'm too proud to pay for it and much too, hm, what's the nice word for it? Difficult – for a man to lay an eye on me. What, you don't agree?"

"Perhaps," I said flatly.

"And besides, I know how to take care of myself much better than anyone could attempt to."

"So you remain alone," I concluded out loud.

She shrugged and smiled. "And why not? Good things come to those who wait."

I looked at her in curiosity. "You are waiting?"

Hawke shook her head and explained, "No, it's just an expression. I don't hope for such things. If they are to come, let them come."

"I agree. Lying in wait is a waste of energy," I said firmly, looking away.

But I turned my head quickly to her when she started saying, "Until some brat prince comes to sweep me off my feet – and please let it be that way, because I don't want to do the sweeping – I can always just," Hawke said and smirked subtly, "shower my eyes with something I enjoy looking at, then think about it later when I'm alone."

I frowned, because I did not understand, although I had an idea. "Pardon?"

She grimaced in annoyance. "You're deliberately playing dumb."

"I am not."

"Fine."

But I pressed and smirked, feeling boyish and arrogant. "So you think of me?"

"Oh, now you're not playing dumb anymore."

"I was testing something."

"And are you happy with the result?"

"It remains to be seen."

"After I answer your question?"

"Precisely."

Hawke laughed and eyed me confidently. "Ah, but such requests are futile. What good would it do you, if I tell you that?"

"That also remains to be seen."

"You're purposely vague, are you not?"

Ah the smirk on my face. "I find it useful. It pushes you to rush up with the truth and past your deflections."

"Psht. Coward."

"I am not a coward."

"Pansy."

"Incorrect."

She narrowed her eyes. "Prude."

I hesitated and stuttered. "Alright … fair enough."

She smirked confidently and pointed at me. "First step is admitting it."

I was about to poke her. "Then be fair and take that step too."

She shoved her hand in the air as if she yielded. "Very well. I admit I think of you when I'm alone."

The delight in my bones I had to fight so strongly to keep hidden. "See? It wasn't so hard, was it?"

"I beg to differ."

"What?"

She shook her head and smiled. "Never mind."

At that moment, I felt such a grand regret if the subject was changed, and as if I was driven mechanically by nature, I strove to press. "Do you wish to know if the feeling is mutual?" Where did I find the courage, I do not know.

She shook her head and grinned. "No, what good would that do me?"

I answered without thinking. "There are pleasures certainly greater than merely speaking about it, it is true."

She examined me for two seconds in silence and asked, "Are you implying something by that?"

"No, I… " I paused and cleared my throat, "I am simply stating the obvious."

"Which is?"

"That… there are certain pleasures greater than speaking about it?" Perhaps my courage, however miraculous, was simply short-lived.

"Thanks for the repetition."

"You are welcome."

_Terrible. _

I tried to remember. Isabela pressed one night, that I am a fool for being so childish, that she can see from miles away how much I wanted Hawke. I told her to keep to her business, but she insisted that she would help. I felt like walking into a trap, but she simply advised me to 'flirt'.

Making advances to Hawke… was like trying to poke a sleeping dragon. I had no idea how.

Now come to think of it, perhaps I was worse. The pirate certainly painted a good picture. "Flirting with Fenris is like flirting with a tree."

Hawke only made a remark faintly when everyone was at the table, "Like the business end of a porcupine."

Should I even dare to remember the nature of such attempts? I'd rather not, but some few scenes come to mind from years ago.

_At Sundermount…_

"Come on Fenris, cheer up, it could be worse."

"What, if I start skipping around the countryside with rainbows and woodland creatures following me will you leave me alone for a minute?"

_Or… on the Wounded Coast._

Hawke once boldly saying, "Meet you at my place later. _Ga-row._"

"What are you talking about?"

"It looked like you were giving me the saucy eyebrow just there. The one that totally means you want to do the mattress dance?"

"I was in _pain._"

"…"

"…"

Hawke coughed and stepped back. "This is awkward. I'll just stand over there."

"Yes. You do that."

Or…

Hawke winked.

I frowned, "Wh… What?"

"I winked back at you. Didn't you wink?"

"… That was a flinch."

_Or perhaps… in the Bone Pit.. _

"Maker's saggy testicles, it's so dark in here," Hawke growled in annoyance.

"You should really invest in fire," I said grumpily.

"Or you could just turn your glow on."

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Oh come on, do you want me to stumble over you in here?"

"…Fine."

She laughed in delight. "Be grateful I didn't also hop on your back and said 'Giddy-up my powerful glowing steed! Go into the light!'"

_Or later when Varric and the mage went too far ahead._

She leaned closer to me in the dark, damp cave.

"What are you doing?"

It was too dark to see her face. "Well… it's cold."

"We are in a cave."

"I was thinking, you emit light, so I thought you might also… you know. Emit heat?"

"Please go away."

_Or when we got out of the Bone Pit…_

Hawke said, "Drat… The sun is down. And we are still so far away from Kirkwall."

Varric came next to her and shouted, "I know! This is suuuch an issue. What we to do? Walk around blindly into a trap?"

Hawke lifted her eyebrows innocently, "I haven't the faintest clue! What shall we do?"

Then they both eyed me fiendishly. I would have killed them.

"… Of for the love of…" I rolled my eyes and undid the front of my vest, leading the path in utter annoyance. And I could feel Hawke and Varric behind fist-bumping.

_Or in the Deep Roads…_

"Stop trying to hit me," I growled at her in annoyance.

"No," Hawke said childishly.

"Oh, now that I let you touch me it should become a tradition to poke the angry dragon?"

"What can I say, I can't keep my hands off of you," Hawke said sarcastically.

"Why is it such a point of fascination to you? Do you think you can draw energy for yourself from my markings, witch?"

Hawke masked her annoyance and stung back nonchalantly, "No, but you're kind of like a caffeine substitute."

_Or at The Hanged Man…_

"Flip the coin already," Hawke said in annoyance at my drunken slowness.

"If I flip the coin, what are my chances of getting head?"

She laughed for half an hour. To this day I did not get it.

No, it got worse when I was drunk and vaguely sarcastic…

"I think I know how to please a woman."

"Then _please_ leave me alone."

"I think I can make you very happy."

"Why? Are you leaving?"

"Come on, Hawke. We're both at The Hanged Man when Varric is not even here for a reason."

"Yeah! Let's pick up some girls."

"Come on, Hawke, don't be shy. Ask me out."

"Alright. Get out."

"I can tell that you want me."

"Yes, I want you to leave."

"Fine. I'm going home. If you wish to come, you are welcome."

"Oh, Fenris, you strike me as a man who comes all by himself."

I… need to be alone. Forgive me a moment.


	12. Big Bad Fenris

**Don't worry ^^ This chapter I dedicate to all confused people. (And no more raging please, maybe you should take a breath and cut me some slack, because the last chapter was basically the realistic thing that would have happened if Fenris started to narrate. First anger, then turns on angsty brood, then calms himself down by thinking of something else – ends up remembering embarrassing scenes, he excuses himself before actually returning to his original point of filling in the gaps).**

**So here's what **_**really **_**happened. **

**This is dedicated to Naya. Antivan trouble, here we come.**

* * *

><p>I am back. Forgive me for my departure. I felt too penetrated, as if one dug so deep in memories that one reached the censorship line to the unconscious. And I don't fancy the unconscious.<p>

Now that I've calmed myself down only very little… what was I saying?

Ah, yes. Filling the gaps this impossible woman confused you with. And yet I am no better. I've lost myself in pointless overthinking and flew so far away from the main point that… yes, yes, laugh at me. Perhaps there's some irony in this. Yes, that is nothing new, sadly.

I apologize for my outburst. Since I am not blind with rage for maybe another few moments, I don't seem to see the point in taking over so directly. It would certainly help not straying away from my point as well.

_Banavis fedari._ May the ground rise to meet your feet.

* * *

><p><strong>Day 3, Piazza Di Azuro, Antiva City<strong>

"You're wasting time. There is no evidence to support that Armand is up to something," Fenris said grumpily as he followed Hawke through the piazza.

"Which is why it's going to be so cool when I turn out to be right," Hawke said cockily.

"What are you intending to do? You wish us to follow him to eternity through this place until maybe, just maybe we find he's up to something?" Fenris asked in annoyance.

"Fenris…" Hawke said with a smile. "Don't you know me by now?"

"Unfortunately…" Fenris said grumpily.

"Ok, he's looking, shht, turn back, pretend you're admiring that monument," Hawke whispered rapidly and turned back.

"… I don't see the point in this," Fenris whispered flatly.

"That's because it's on your head," Hawke said meanly and kept pretending to look at the Procession of Magi.

"Couldn't you simply ask him of his business? You're a veteran at sniffing around where you don't belong," Fenris said grumpily.

"Learned a new word now, did you?" Hawke said in annoyance. "Let's make it a tradition. Word of the day for Fenris's daily word count!"

"I'm afraid to ask what the word of the day is," Fenris said grumpily, looking in different directions as Armand was still wondering around the piazza.

"Hm, something that would suit you," Hawke said in annoyance and nudged him to stop turning his head. "Thundercunt."

"Charming," Fenris said grumpily.

After they've lost themselves in speeches about mages and worldly injustice and after Hawke's charming and graphic tribute to the Maker in plain sight, they caught up with spying on Armand.

He turned around a dark corner in the narrow market street and just when Hawke and Fenris got to it, the only thing they saw was a cloaked figure rapidly vanishing and Armand turning around and eyeing them murderously.

"Oh, fancy meeting you here," Hawke pretended gracefully. "Did you see the deal on Antivan perfumed candles? Very nice."

Armand's brow arched up and could almost reach the heavens. He wasn't buying jack shit.

"I tried to stop her," Fenris said grumpily, blowing her cover with no shame.

"Somehow you always find people to gang up on me," Hawke growled angrily at Fenris.

"Would you stop with the paranoia?" Fenris asked in annoyance. "You reap what you saw if you spy on people. Unsuccessfully."

"You didn't help on purpose," Hawke said angrily. "I will not forget that, Fenris. Your ass is going down, you sodding starlit thundercunt."

Fenris snorted at her creative swears, and by the time they realized they were hissing at each other, Armand rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "What do you want?"

"Oh, just a few million questions answered," Hawke said firmly. "Starting with – how do you get your hair to be so dashing and shiny?"

"I wash it," Armand said sharply. "Any other survey questions?"

"Just one," Hawke said and smiled. "Would you let me help you with whatever you're doing?"

"I imagine involving yourself in other people's business is what you're best at," Armand said grumpily.

"She tends to excel at it, yes," Fenris responded while shaking his head.

"_Helping _people is what I'm best at. And killing them," Hawke said confidently. "You got anything like that?"

Armand looked at Fenris sharply, seeming like they had exchanged a telepathic agreement. Somewhere on the verge of 'She's not going to let this go, is she?', is what Armand's eyes said and Fenris responding, 'Implausible.'

"Be at the Occhio del Corvo tomorrow night. We will talk there," Armand said sharply.

"Be at the _what_? Where's that?" Hawke asked in confusion.

"If you don't find it, you're not made up for the job," Armand said flatly and went to turn around. "Now if you would ever so gracefully get off my back?"

"I'll need a ladder," Hawke said sarcastically.

* * *

><p><strong>Day 3, Nighttime, After the song in the fountain scene<strong>

"What have you learned so far?" Fenris asked with a faint smile.

"Well, that's an arrogant question!" Hawke said in amusement and repeated his question mockingly. "What have you learned?"

"Say whatever comes to mind," Fenris demanded calmly.

Hawke looked away with a deep look which could only mean 'I have no idea where my legs are right now'.

"Are you alright?" Fenris pressed in a soft voice and squeezed her hand tighter. "Hawke."

He put his arm forward as though to embrace her. His eyes were clear and she could see no malice at all in them.

"You've given me courage," she said finally.

"For what, may I ask?" Fenris responded calmly.

"To continue being myself… and all that it implies," Hawke said bitterly while looking down. What a look of wonder came over Fenris's face. He could sense there was a magic implication in her words, but not much else that he could really put his finger on, until she turned her head to him and gave him the rare warm smile she would only give to her closest.

"Do you have all you…" Fenris asked softly, then stuttered, "all you need?"

"I'll give you three guesses," Hawke said with a large grin.

Fenris nodded. What more was there for them to say? He couldn't help it much longer.

She didn't give him long explanations, no sorcery or science, either of which would have been so easy for her.

But as they gazed at each other, it struck them with full force that there had never been moments in their lives such as these, magnified in this very moment, and the message they subtly gave one another was irresistible. So great had been their loneliness, so great had been their longing to be understood.

But now, with all of Antiva City receiving them into its finest wonders, they did not feel such a thing. They had each other to ramble on about anything they desired to, and they both had Varric to share their joys with, even if the burden of their ambiguous relationship remained private.

Indeed, they were enjoying the Perfect Time. Fenris, as a man with much less experience than a tree, and with only less than half of his life perhaps that he could remember, wondered if this corresponded to the prime of life – those years you are strongest and can see with the greatest clarity, those years when you can give your trust most truly to others, and seek to bring about a perfect happiness for yourself.

Hawke – that was the love of his perfect time. Although it was a stunning promise, that of the hunters to always find him no matter where he went. Fenris resolved to ignore his, only for a moment, not to allow it to impede him in the slightest as he enjoyed his life.

Fenris sought to hold her fast to him with his right arm.

"Who are you really?" Hawke asked playfully as he let him slowly drag her closer.

"I'll give you three guesses," Fenris repeated her sarcasm with an evil grin, dragging her closer by the arm until they his eyes could pierce her only inches away.

"Inconceivable! Are you that _brat prince _from my dreams?" Hawke asked him sarcastically, raising her voice boldly over the music.

"Perhaps so," Fenris said with an arrogant grin, "if you let me kiss you."

To his astonishment, she allowed it and he bent to kiss her. It was a strong embrace and the heat of his body inflamed her. He covered her with feathery kisses while she held onto his arms as the only pillars of her balance, as if at any moment she would come to an outburst. As if at any moment, she couldn't take it anymore.

* * *

><p><em>Alright. Forgive me, but I have to take over shortly. <em>

Then, with a violent throb I realized she could take no more. I drew back, but not before I pressed my lips to hers and held the kiss for a long moment. I felt guilty, but I thanked her with my whole heart in my mind. I had not the slightest doubt that she had been protecting me all this time with her distance. I knew that she had.

Yet it didn't feel like it should. And then I withdrew, powerful, clear-eyed, thinking this was the kiss of my death if I had pressed it further.

Two strong women flickered in her eyes. One wanted to come back to me, the other was keeping her paralyzed. Yes, the two Hawkes inside her that I had come to both enjoy. Her dual nature only made her more insane and impulsive, but at times it managed to fiercely and completely balance her. This was not that time.

In a second, she was gone. She rushed out of my arms and ran for it. More the fool I was, that it did not occur to me in the same second just how ridiculous this was, so I went after her.

"Hawke!" I screamed angrily and ran after her down the street. "Hawke," I shouted again and rushing my pace as fast as my drunken strength and impaired judgement could give me. I was angry. The night was damp and the wind did not help me one bit to clear my head. My legs were tiring out, but I knew that I had all the advantage to overrun her. She turned to the right in a dark alley and there all hell became.

_Kevesh._

* * *

><p>Hawke climbed onto a ladder in the dark alley and hopped onto the roof, overseeing the city and not catching any glimpse of the elf. This was not a good sign. She rushed on the roof and jumped off of it. Although it wasn't a leap of faith, shivers came down her spine as she thrust her sword into the large curtain of the building and went down. As the sword finished cutting the curtain in full, she landed hard, but rather quietly on a bunch of old boxes. It was quiet. Almost too quiet. She tried not to breathe and turned her body around in different directions, because the darkness from the end of the street up until the other end which led to the plaza was much too eerie and silent.<p>

A violent throb pierced her heart as a set of gauntlets caught her by the shoulders and shoved her into the wall. "You are like a child," Fenris's voice came with powerful eyes and a violent frown as he squeezed her shoulders.

She was trembling and panting from fear, but he grew impatient and his softness from just a moment ago came to an end with his shoving her against the wall. "I'm sorry," she said flatly without looking into his eyes.

"You are not," Fenris said angrily.

"Forgive me," she said again, without looking at him.

He had little strength or patience enough to comfort her, but he knew what she needed. It was hitting him again and again like so many violent blows that his world was dashed, that all these moments were always coming to an end he didn't like, that she could slip away at any second and keep him struggling and wondering why in the name of Heaven was her problem.

"You are killing me, Hawke," Fenris growled aggressively. "What do you need of me that I can't give you, hm?" he shouted.

She closed her eyes and scowled, without much defence against his aggressive demeanour, because she understood him. "I don't know what to say. If…"

"Yes, if?"

"If I cannot keep you from running, I run first."

His eyebrows joined into a surprised and sorrowful look, followed by him looking down with a powerful sigh, "Ah, yes, if you cannot protect me."

He fell into silence. Again, it did not seem possible that this had happened to him. His soul was burnt. His spirit was burnt. His will was scarred and his happiness ruined yet again.

"No," Hawke said finally. "We'll do this your way. Let's go back home. I'm sorry. I'm being a prick."

"No, you aren't," he said angrily. "You're only more afraid of being left here alone than you are of going. You're afraid that if you stay behind or you say the wrong thing, I'll never come back to you."

Hawke nodded her head as if Fenris forced her to admit it. Then she scowled. "That's not perfectly it. There are other reasons. But is it so wrong of me to think this way?"

Fenris hesitated and his face remained struck by utter sadness. For a moment it seemed as if he would actually just leave, but then his eyes grew colder and more beautifully calm. He shut his eyes tight and wrapped his arms around her, bringing her close to his chest. "Yes. No."

"Or I don't know," Hawke said in amusement, returning his hug and running a hand through his hair. "Those are the three guesses."

"Perhaps I do not wish to leave," Fenris said flatly, brushing his gauntlet gently on her back. "Perhaps I mean to stay until you tell me to go. Has this ever crossed your mind?"

"Is it such a surprise that it hasn't?" Hawke asked bitterly. "Forget I said anything."

"I can't forget," Fenris said flatly, "I cannot lie to you."

She didn't answer, instead she lay paralyzed in his arms and tried not to burst. He felt it and a bitter frown drew on his face as he put his hand on the back of her head and leaned it against his own. His lips came to her ear softly as he whispered, "It is my fault. I started this."

"Don't give me that," Hawke said angrily and drew back from his embrace. Powerful eyes screamed at him to withdraw his statement. "You think I wouldn't have started it just as well if you hadn't found the courage?"

His eyes went to their lower right in a sad frown as he hesitated, "No, I… yes, perhaps you would have."

"I wonder who's the bigger idiot," Hawke said angrily. "Me for running for your sake or you for lying to yourself that you wouldn't."

Her statement was bold, not very accusatory, but it struck a rage in him that drew all over his dark impatient face. "Really, truly, that's your excuse?" Fenris shouted and stretched his arms. "I had a few dozen enough opportunities to run like the wind and be done with Kirkwall."

"It's not that," Hawke said and shook her head. "Although you said quite enough times that you were thinking of leaving."

"Then what?" Fenris growled sharply. "Am I supposed to believe you are struck with guilt? That you're some former blood mage seeking penitence? Or perhaps a former assassin with extreme rage issues? What? What could it be that would keep me from accepting you little impossible woman?"

Hawke appeared to be hit again and again by those words and grew tired. She had her eyes closed and frowning, then finally interrupted him. "Shut up."

"And I refuse," Fenris retorted angrily. "What now? You wish me to leave?"

"No," Hawke said quickly. "Not unless you are certain that's the wisest choice."

"You are uncertain," Fenris said perceptively. She didn't answer, more so just looking in different directions and swallowing heavily. "Perhaps I need to make it clearer for you," Fenris said angrily and closed her mouth with his lips in a harrowing second. It was a long kiss, powerful and soft, that made the ground simply move away from under her feet. There was no lust or malice in it, not even anger. This was the time to give him a sign. Either continue or withdraw. The wait was not painful. As soon as Fenris stopped from pressing his lips on hers any longer in the kiss, she grabbed his back and brought him back to her. Mother of permissions, she was tired of this ordeal, but this wasn't over, she knew it.

Regardless, she tightened her grip and left him with his guard down in his surprise, forcing his mouth open and in a split second, his tongue moved serpentlike inside. He held her neck with his left hand and over and over again, he kissed her, as though that and only that were the most eloquent gesture in the world. This strange intimacy started him, but he did not think to drive away. He understood once more, that this was how men kiss, roughly, with gruff and heated gestures and tight embraces. These turned into rapacious kisses and she knew it, but she didn't stop it and the texture of her baby soft skin and of her thick red hair had driven him to madness, so he wouldn't stop either. Even if they were leading nowhere.

Yes, he couldn't stop himself from showing her with actions how he felt. Words failed him, even though he knew words were the thing she was waiting for. She expected that for her to trust him, he would have to tell her the story of his tormented life, whatever was eating him inside and that his eyes always leaked away through the cracks of his mask whenever they would talk. He wanted to, he desperately wanted to. He knew she would understand, but that did not help his conscience much. Because it was a shame on his life, a stain he would never wipe and what was worse, she wouldn't look at him the same way if she knew.

So in this moment, he resolved to once more ignore this and focus on her fear, because as she said, his problems was not the only stinging factor in their torturing equation. And he desperately wished her problems to be his. Perhaps he wasn't clear enough. He needed to take his patience with it, just as well as she had the patience for him.

But until then, he visited on her his truthful kiss, his sweet and rough kisses, his kisses of need and he gave himself to her with no reserve. _Almost_ none, for he wouldn't give up.

* * *

><p><em>(After this comes Hawke's memory of the hot encounter, ending in them both trying to tease the truth out of each other, Fenris pressing for her to say the word, only to give up and continue the ordeal physically and him doing something to Hawke with his lyrium glow.)<em>

* * *

><p>Blinded and shaking, she burst into loud moans covered by Fenris's hand. Dead and fainted she was, from the drunkenness and from everything he had put her through. Although he had to admit, the delight in his bones was beyond cosmic proportions as well his grin as he got her to powerfully climax with his ability, despite her wide reserves of resistance. Yes, his grin was stretching back to Kirkwall and his eyes were bathing in devilish triumph.<p>

He carried her back to her room and placed her carefully on the bed, but her arm shoved a lamp away and the creaking sound made her spring back only faintly to consciousness.

Fenris quickly placed the lamp back on the nightstand until whole room caught on fire and saw Hawke's arm stretching at him faintly. "Fenris…"

"Go back to sleep," he said calmly and refused to touch her. "_Now _I'm done with you for the night," he joked in amusement, remembering his victory.

She caught his hand aggressively, in a fit of sudden strength coming back to her, and dragged him to sit on the edge of the bed next to her as only she remained lying down. "Stay."

"Not a very wise choice," Fenris said carefully, trying not to laugh at how beaten she was.

"Do I have to beg?" Hawke muttered angrily through her sleepiness.

"So that's where you two were," Varric's voice startled Fenris and he quickly got up from the bed and sat straight as if a knight-captain suddenly entered the room and he was merely a soldier honouring his role.

"Teddybear," Hawke muttered happily, pointing at Varric's pajamas.

The dwarf looked down as if he had forgotten what he was wearing, a blue shirt and pants with a lion embroidery. He scowled ferociously, "It's a lion."

"It is _not_," Hawke said drunkenly. "Fenris, do you see a lion?"

Fenris smirked with an umimpressed look and crossed his arms, "You are right, all I see is a teddybear."

"Oh piss off," Varric said angrily. "You're both seeing fluffy animals because you've been cuddling and canoodling behind my back."

"We were _what_?" Hawke asked in confusion. "Canoo-what?"

"It seems Hawke is not the only one who is paranoid in our little group," Fenris deflected masterfully.

"Then what are you doing here?" Varric asked with lifted impassive eyebrows, waiting for a perfectly reasonable lie from them.

"Isn't it obvious? She's drunk as a boiled owl," Fenris stated unperturbed and pointed at her calmly.

"Ah, but where were you before that, hm?" Varric interrogated charmingly.

"I killed a man, got tormented by guilt, we strolled around the city and listened to some Antivan tenor sing his lungs out in the square and then, overcome and energized with such Antivan romance, I made out with him in a dark alley. It was so hot and poetic," Hawke said with a serious but drunken tone.

Varric looked at her for five seconds in silence. "Bullshit." Fenris contained his smirk because she managed yet again to lie by using the truth.

"Get your ass here," Hawke said drunkenly and grabbed Varric forcefully by the arm, dragging him on the bed. Then she put a leg over him and encaged him viciously in her drunken sleep.

Varric seemed perplexed and panic-stricken, and looked at Fenris, exchanging a telepathic look. _So… I guess I'm screwed, _Varric's terrified look said. _That you are my friend, that you are,_ Fenris's arrogant smirk said. _Alright then… see you in the morning, if I'm alive, _Varric said telepathically. Whatever Fenris responded with his mind, the dwarf couldn't make out.

In truth, what went through Fenris's mind as he uncrossed his arms and left the room was a grand bunch of Tevinter curses in a walk of defeat, because he lost his chance and Varric got to take care of drunken Hawke in the end because of his stupid hesitations.

* * *

><p><strong>The next morning<strong>

"What will we do with a drunken sailor? What will we do with a drunken sailor? What will we do with a drunken sailor early in the mooorning," Hawke sang mockingly as Isabela came ravished, messy hair and deeply hungover in the tables room of the inn.

"Oh shut it," Isabela muttered grumpily and sat down at the table with all of them.

"Nonsense, Varric back me up here," Hawke said cockily and continued in a chorus, "Way hay and up she rises! Way hay and up she rises! Way hay and up she rises early in the morning!"

"Maker's balls," Isabela said angrily as Armand and Fenris laughed at her softly.

Varric and Hawke started waving and swaying mockingly. "Shave her belly with a rusty razor! Shave her belly with a rusty razor! Shave her belly with a rusty razor early in the morning!"

Dorian joined in the choir. "Put her in the bed with the captain's daughter! Put her in the bed with the captain's daughter! Put her in the bed with the captain's daughter early in the morning!"

Isabela put her hands over her ears, hungover and beaten as a wheel-barrow and shut her eyes tight, but they continued mercilessly. "Way hay and up she rises! Way hay and up she rises! Way hay and up she rises early the morning!"

"That's what we do with a drunken sailor! That's what we do with a drunken sailor! That's what we do with a drunken sailor early in the morning!"

Finally, Isabela started laughing to herself and they gave her a huge cup of Antivan coffee. "No? You want a yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum?" Hawke asked innocently and Isabela scowled at her. "No?"

Isabela muttered grumpily, "And here come the pirate jokes."

"Songs, my dear, songs," Hawke corrected. "Yar har fiddle dee dee, being a pirate is alright with me, do what you want 'cause a pirate is free, you are a pirate!

Varric joined her eagerly. "Yo ho ahoy and avast, being a priate is really badass, hang the black flag at the end of the mast, you are a pirate!"

"Maker kill me now," Isabela said and banged her head into the table.

"Aw, woman, pull yourself together," Hawke said firmly. "What kind of flowers do you get a pirate who can't remember how to tie a rope?"

"What…" Isabela muttered grumpily.

"Forget-me-knots," Hawke said and burst into laughter. "Arrrr."

"Do you know what a pirate thinks of this joke?" Isabela asked with an umimpressed tone. "It's g_arrrr_bage."

"Oh, I have a better joke. A story, actually," Varric said in amusement. "Care to hear it, perchance it might impress you snobby little pirate?"

"Fine," Isabela said flatly. "But no more _arrr_-jokes."

"Arrright," Varric said mockingly. "So, a large Humpback whale was lazily enjoying a beautiful day when he sees a female Humpback whale just a little ways off in the distance. He thought to himself 'Oh, matey, how do I impress this luscious piece of voluptuous meat?'" Varric narrated charmingly and everyone listened. "He swims over to her and breeches the surface, showing off he large hump on his back, but the lady whale seemed deeply unimpressed as she breached and showed a larger more well-formed… hump, herself." The dwarf cleared his throat and resumed charmingly, "Now, a little embarrassed, he tries again to impress her by taking a breath and blowing a huge cloud of mist and water with a really nice rainbow glowing through it. Once again, she looked unimpressed and she blew a larger cloud of mist, with a more beautiful rainbow."

"I can already tell this isn't going anywhere pleasant," Fenris said grumpily, but still entertained by the story.

"Shht, shht," Hawke hissed childishly at him and gestured for Varric to continue.

Varric smirked and resumed, "Now clearly agitated, the guy whale sees a navel vessel in the distance and races off towards it. Just before he collides with the ship, he dives," Varric kept gesturing dramatically, "jumps out of the water and as he sails over the bow of the ship, he plucks a sailor off the deck and in one gulp swallows him whole!"

"Oh, I think I know where this is going," Hawke said childishly and Varric raised a palm knightly to stop her from her cheer.

"He swam back to her very proud of himself, only to find the female object of his attentions with a horrifying and disgusted look on her face…" Varric lifted his eyebrows and smirked, "As she swam off she said, 'I'll hump, I'll blow, BUT I WON'T SWALLOW SEAMEN!'"

* * *

><p><strong>Later that day<strong>

Hawke collected Varric, Isabela and Fenris from each place she knew they would be in. Although she didn't find most of them exactly where she thought they would be. Varric and Fenris were surprisingly… lying on the garden roof of the palazzo on some strange flat chair-beds, drinking some green-looking things and both of them with their chests out in the open. Varric looked confident and happy, lying down with no shame, whereas Fenris had one arm across his face with his vest open and seeming to be catching roots or sinking in the chair-bed like a beaten caterpillar. When she came they were startled and she started laughing to bits.

"Today we're expecting high chances of cloudy skies, damp air and a whole lotta raining men," Hawke said in amusement as Fenris started covering himself up and Varric only cockily showed his chest even more.

Hawke explained that she convinced Armand to let her help him with his business and issued Varric to find this "Occhio Del Corvo" by nightfall. Isabela was not eager at all to come, within good reason of course, but Hawke growled at her so fiercely, overrun with her frustration that she was never going to actually help her in anything, despite Hawke's efforts to help _her_. They started arguing in the middle of the street and Hawke raised her palm as she often did to issue her companions to stop. She told Isabela to get out of her sight, and that's what she did.

Varric insisted that all of them put on cloaks for their own good if they were indeed going to involve themselves into Crow business. Hawke put on a powerfully blue coat with red embroideries, the same powerful blue pants, a white shirt and a crimson waist girdle in which she stuck a few knives, then cloaked herself playfully and winked at them. She equipped herself with two longswords in sheaths by her sides that she kept hidden. Yes, greatswords were not going to help in this situation, no one could possibly hide such a weapon.

Fenris didn't approve of changing tactics so suddenly, especially in a place that would be twice as strange and dangerous than Kirkwall, but eventually complied and equipped himself with two hidden longswords and put on a black shirt and over it a dark coat, with a somewhat midnight violet waistband. More so, to everyone's surprise and amusement, he put on a black and whitish grey vertical-lined pair of Antivan pants Hawke playfully suggested some days before would look good on him. She had no idea he actually bought them from the market. Yes, the pants were a much bigger surprise than him putting on leather boots, for sure. The violet waist band was indeed, a sign of mockery directed at her for not having the courage to wear such a color. A sign of mockery which she rightfully received through his evil grin as he cloaked himself and looked away.

Varric didn't need much change to his appearance. He said in amusement that he should match Broody's look and put on a pair of white and pale green vertical-lined pants and a brown cloak with a red scarf. Yes… they all looked like the perfect candidates for the Cirque du so Gay, Hawke said. They hailed a gondola soon enough and by the time they found their way to Occhio Del Corvo, the sun had set.

* * *

><p><strong>Sunset, Via della Morte Nera <strong>

The night as wet and dark, cicadas sang in the dark as they often do, to no clock, in Antiva City.

They followed Hawke. Up and down they went, walking like regular men among the streets, then only to climb on pipes and sneak through buildings so they would be sure nobody else followed them.

Perhaps others felt this way when they hunt the big beasts of the forest and of the jungle. For Hawke, as they went down the stairs from the ceiling into a darkened courtyard of this new and highly decorated palazzo, it was rabid excitement. Men were going to die. Men would be murdered. Men who were bad, men who had wronged innocents. At least to her understanding.

No care now about the soil, the damp, the threat of disease. No care now whether the crawling things of the night came near. No care now what men might think who peeped from their windows. No care now for the lateness of the hour. Look at me, stars. Look at me, as I look at you.

Fenris tried to shut himself up and remained in a calm and cold lack of protest, because he understood what Hawke was doing, apart from the usual reason why she involved herself in such situations. He knew of her struggle that struck into her soul after Danny's death, she was panic-stricken and tormented by the ghost of her past and her present – that she wanted to be more than a mage, she wanted be equal to him, to Varric and any other man who only made use of physical means to fight. She wanted to do good far and wide in her own way. For them it was a fighter life and it was as joyful as it was sorrowful. The demons of her past were magnified and she kept pushing them down as much as she could.

Silently, secretively, without further ado, she had set the tone for her approach to the world. She would wander these places which were foreign to her, including Kirkwall when they would return, with the fervor of a Ferelden saint. She would increase in understanding, in goodness and compassion for others, just like her soul had dictated from the very beginning. And she would never cease to put a pressure on herself to be exactly what she believed was good.

"We must be careful," Fenris finally said as they sneaked quietly between every roof and landed somewhere in a garden.

"No need to worry," Hawke said firmly. "I trust Armand to show up. Well, as soon as we find the right place."

"This certainly looks like the dark, creepy kind of beautifully haunting place to be called Occhio del Corvo. Well, that and the fact that there's a one-eyed raven statue right there," Varric said awkwardly and pointed above at the grand façade of the building behind them.

"It's almost too quiet here," Fenris said in a low voice. "I do not like this."

"Have faith, you stubborn little man," Hawke whispered as they leaned over the wall in a shadowy corner.

Fenris gave a sad sigh and looked away, his face as aloof and unbending as before, only now Hawke sensed the fervor and thick blood flowing through his veins with fear. That once again, as it had been the night before, was pumped full of living heat, his heart throbbing in his chest but kept under control in the safety of her and Varric's company, which had no doubt been his late repast this same evening.

Strident perfume rose from the gardens right and left, from red and purple bougainvilleas and geranum a grandi fiori, as the Antivan call them here, rampant flowers shimmering and smelling infinitely sweet, and the wild irises stabbing upwards like blades out of the dark grass, throaty petals monstrously big, battering themselves on old walls and concrete steps. There were also little white, almost transparent flowers called Lunaria because they resembled almost perfectly shapely moons. And then as always there were roses, roses of old women and roses of the young, roses too whole for the tropical night, roses coated here with poison.

She looked at the garden with its damp, sweet park of green down the middle, a park thick with those carefully planted flowers and old gnarled and humble, bending trees. Then back up at the sky. Stay with me, beauteous stars, her face seemed to beg, and let me never seek to fathom this fusion of light and sound, but only give myself to it utterly and unquestionably. The stars were large and infinite in their cold majestic light, compared to the hotness and dampness of the Antivan street. And slowly, the actual dark night after sunset was descending upon them with only one great glorious illumination remaining.

They didn't look at the canals much after this first long and memorable glimpse. They looked up at Heaven and her court of mythical creatures fixed forever in the all powerful and inscrutable stars. Ink black was the night beyond them, and they so like jewels that old poetry came back to them, the sound even of hymns sung only by men who had lost all fear for war.

The whole picture moved with the subtle river winds, and wet mist swirled but would not fall into rain itself, and tiny green leaves drifted down like wilting ashes to the ground. Soft soft northern summer. Even the sky seemed pregnant with the season, lowering yet blushing with reflected light, giving birth to the mist from all its pores.

She smiled. Fenris felt her smile, and as the light of the moon grew brighter still and ever closer, as though it were an ocean of itself, the sky of stars, he felt a great saving coolness over all his limbs.

"Stay here," Fenris said calmly. "I will roam over the corner and see if anybody followed us."

Hawke hesitated as he already started walking away, then finally whispered, "Be careful." He looked only half-way back at her and nodded knightly, then sneaked quietly against the wall and around the corner.

"Hawke, not that I'm not fiercely enjoying the roguish adventurous scenario and these badass looking clothes, but…" Varric started awkwardly.

"But?" Hawke asked in amusement. "You're retired?"

"No, no," Varric said sweetly in a frown. "Just wondering if those shiny little stars up there decided this is the last time I'll ever see them."

"You're such a fatalist," Hawke said warmly and brushed his shoulder. "Nobody's dying on me, you got it? That includes you and your masterful roguish efforts."

"Oh, make no mistake," Varric started cockily. "Bianca and I are good to go." Hawke looked at him firmly and squeezed his hand and patted his crossbow as if she blessed him coldly.

They suddenly heard a sinister laughter, rumbling like low thunder over the moist soft sounds of the flutes and cicadas in the distance. A long, dry cruel laugh.

Two resembling dark cloaked figures came out of nowhere from above and landed dexterously on the narrow and high black gates in front of the garden. Only now did they realize there was also a black crow sculpted in the upper middle of the gates. The figures held onto the fence as they came down and landed again very quietly and gracefully with a roll in the air and another roll-over on the ground at a fine distance from them. Hawke held onto the sheaths just in case, but it became very clear that these were Armand and his _friend. _

She approached them with no fear as she saw the strips of red hair coming from underneath Armand's hood. His friend had let the hood of his cape fall, and his hair was wondrously shaped in its prodigious length. He looked like some elven god of beauty, with his glistening and relaxed amber eyes, lean nose and mild full mouth, and the blond hair parted so cleanly in the middle, and the whole mass of it alive from the damp of the night. His tight, polished brown face startled her. He looked lacquered all over, waxed, buffed, and she thought of spicy things, of the meat of candied nuts, and delicious aromas, of chocolates sweet with sugar and dark rich butterscotch, and it seemed a good thing suddenly to maybe stop staring at him.

"I see you've found this place after all," Armand said flatly in a quiet voice.

"Ah, I believe there is no doubt to be put in Ferelden warriors such as herself, Armand," the handsome elf said in a perfect Antivan accent. "Of course such thoughts are moot. One must never put so much trust in any soul they do not wish simply to kill."

Hawke raised an eyebrow and uncovered her head too, looking the man straight in the eye and preparing to speak. "I see you've already heard a great deal about me," Hawke said sarcastically as she glanced fiendishly at Armand. "My name is Hawke. And you must be the _friend_ who needs help."

"Indeed I am," the blonde elf said charmingly with a deep voice. "I am Adonis, former assassin and professional good-doer with no country, as it were. My pleasure," he said and bowed courteously.

Hawke tried not to snort at his fake name, but decided to lay it low for a while. Her suspicions to who he was were enough to make an outburst with would only appear to sound with all the rancor of an accusation.

"So what is that you need done?" Hawke asked calmly. "This is no Crow headquarters, that much is clear."

"Oh, if it were, we would be dead by now, no doubt," the elf said firmly. He was wearing a curious black coat with very narrow grey lines, black gloves with fine shimmering and sharp jewels on the knuckles, undoubtedly hiding tiny blades inside and a belt with so many pockets one could only assume was full of all the poisons, explosives and knives in the world. "But enough of this, we still have time to chit-chat. What do you think of my glorious Antiva City?"

"From a first glimpse, it is as beautiful as a city could get," Hawke said warmly, but resumed her cold look which impressed the man, "and seems a place singularly devoid of horrors, a warm home even for its well-dressed and clever beggars, a hive of prosperity and vehement passion as well as staggering wealth. But it is not so, is it?"

"Ah, yes, one could get so tired to form questions, to say it is not possible, this combination of the fleshly, cruel and the beatific. I cannot even find eloquent words for it. The nakedness of the boy angels painted on the facades, the sweet sound of the flutes, the rain and the black-haired beauties. It is enchanting and innocent, but you cannot believe it. It is a lie of Antiva, a lie of the North, a lie of the Devil himself."

"The Devil?" Hawke asked in confusion.

"It is what we call the strongest of pride demons, but it is not important," the elf explained calmly.

"Wait here," Armand said sharply. "I think it's time." Hawke frowned in confusion, but the blonde elf gave her an assuring look as to wait because Armand knew what he was doing. He climbed on a pipe and disappeared somewhere in the building.

"So you're a 'good-doer'," Hawke said awkwardly, looking back at the elf.

"Hawke, is it?" She nodded and the elf resumed charmingly, "There is no good that is founded in suffering and cruelty; there is no good that must root itself in the privation of little children, women and men stripped of their liberty. I can see in you, you are a good-doer yourself, are you not?"

"An army of mercenaries could not have felt less compassion for such despicable creatures," Hawke said firmly about the Crows. "Well, perhaps Antivans have more feeling for their enemy than I."

He laughed. His eyes crinkled at the edges, and his face was cheerful and sweet. His hair kept its elven luster. How fine he would have been if freed from the dictates of this nightmare. "We like to see the blood flow you and I. I don't really fancy Antivans anyway, and I most certainly want swift vengeance."

"So you search the mind for a crime that can justify your predatory feelings?" Hawke asked in suspicion.

The elf laughed again. "It is my way, or so I am told. But no, in all seriousness, all I desire is to right the wrongs that have been done to some few people here. And who knows – as I seem to always be blessed by luck, I might even manage to overthrow this entire guild one day."

"Oh, I get it. You want to punish them," Hawke said gently. "To punish them all for the vain and blasphemous deeds, for the worldly and godless life they made you two live."

"Well, what is the Void compared to this, really?" the elf responded in entertainment with a luscious grin. "Ah, so the executioners said a thousand times when they led heretics to the stake. 'What are the fires of the Inferno to this brief suffering?' Oh, such self-serving and arrogant lies, no?"

Hawke smiled, for she agreed to this elf's ranting. "You think so?"

The elf chuckled and shook his head. "Lay caution on your thoughts, though, yes?" the elf said charmingly. "For there are those who can pick your mind barren of all its thoughts. Such the Crows are. There may be no Void or Inferno for them, but there will be eternal suffering, of that I am sure. Their nights of luxury and lasciviousness are over. The truth awaits them soon enough."

"Antiva is _creepy_," Varric said simply, because he was getting, and rightfully so, crept out by this conversation.

"Yes, well, it is Antiva City after all, my dwarven friend," the blonde elf laughed with bitter joy. "This place must erase from my mind, at least for a while, the clotted torment of some earlier existence, some congestion of all truths that I would not face. Now it is the time to face them, all in this city's eternal beauty and lies."

Fenris finally came from the shadows and joined them, eyeing then the blond elf with deep suspicion as he came next to him and Hawke.

"Oh, that is _not _fair," the blonde elf said as he looked up at Fenris. He was much taller than ordinary elves.

"And you are?" Fenris asked coldly.

The elf smiled, catching onto something in his posture slightly going in front of Hawke and said to Fenris, "Oh, look at dees little morsel before me. Tell me, gorgeous man, have you ever danced with knives under dark silk skies by the moonlight?"

"This is uh, Adonis. Adonis this is Fenris," Hawke said trying not to laugh, then her mouth drew an evil grin. "We're replacing you."

Fenris's brow arched up to the skies and chuckled arrogantly as he crossed his arms. "With him?"

The blonde elf laughed joyfully. "He seems surprised. Tell me, do your tattoos travel down to where I think they may travel down? Are they marks to your… how can I say… sweet spots?"

Fenris's eyes became murderous and his voice grumpy in amazement, "…With him."

"Unlike you, he likes being in pain," Varric said fiendishly, joining in the little play.

"It is a thrill! The warm sharp clack of a whip, the knife dancing across your skin! It makes you feel alive, yes?" the blonde elf said charmingly and tried to get a hold of Fenris's shoulder.

"Be careful, he doesn't like to be touched," Varric said in amusement.

The elf grinned. "Oh? Perhaps it is because… you have not been touched correctly, yes? Perhaps some practice is necessary?"

Fenris frowned and shook his head, eyeing Hawke grumpily. "I'll be in Kirkwall if you need me."

"An invitation! Succes!" the Antivan elf almost shouted eagerly.

"Oh, cheer up, Fenris," Hawke said in amusement. "It could be worse. I could have been serious."

"That would be a first," Fenris said grumpily.

"You believing me for a second is also a first," Hawke stung back confidently.

"Will wonders never cease," Fenris said sarcastically. "Soon I'll wake up cheering for mages' rights and frolicking with woodland creatures on the green grass and under the blue, blue sky."

Hawke and Varric giggled and elbow-hit one another, probably because of some inside joke he completed himself.

"It wouldn't hurt to try," Hawke said in amusement. "I'd pay to see that."

"You can pay for such things just right across the street," Fenris said grumpily, pertaining to the whorehouses.

"Ah, why such rudeness to the lady?" the charming elf intervened. "One must never treat a fine leader as herself with such scorn."

"And who are you again?" Fenris asked coldly with an arrogant look.

"More importantly is the question, who might you be," the elf said to Hawke. "Your fine long hair of fire and eternal intelligence remind me so much of another redhead beauty that stole my heart away long ago."

"I could make that permanent if you wish," Fenris said flatly with a controlled scowl.

"Oh, Big Bad Fenris should be your name, my friend," the Antivan elf said in amusement.

Hawke frowned and ignored Fenris's strange remarks, because she felt like this was an opportunity to unmask him the so-called 'Adonis'. A former handsome and charming crow was something Anders had told her about on numerous occasions and her need for answers grew heavier. "Wait, what were you saying? I didn't quite catch the _redhead_ part."

"Eager, are we not?" the Antivan said with a captivating smile. "Ah, but this is a story for another time, I think. Surely I could never deny a beauty such as yourself for long."

"You could try a little harder," Fenris said in a cold, assaultive tone.

The blonde elf grinned mischievously. "You know, my friend… All that pent up frustration could be put to… much better use."

"And I imagine you excel at such use," Fenris said grumpily. The elf noticed how Fenris made a faint step closer to Hawke as if to keep him away from her.

"Ah, such rudeness," the Antivan elf said playfully. "I must be the only gentleman here."

"Hey, I'm a gentleman," Varric said angrily. "Well, in public."

The elf looked down at him and smiled. "Forgive me my dwarven friend, I did not see you down there."

Hawke laughed softly and Varric gave her an angry look. "What? It's funny 'cause you're in public…" she said innocently, trying to save it, and scratched the back of her head awkwardly.

"Why should we trust this elf?" Fenris demanded firmly. "We could be waiting here to get ambushed any second."

"Hmmmmm, trust me," the elf said charmingly.

"He came with Armand. This is the _friend_," Hawke said calmly. "And who's being paranoid now?"

"Ah, it is healthy to have a little paranoia. But everything with moderation," the blonde elf said joyfully. "Unless you want to get quickly _assassinated _by your own encaging delirium. Or your enemies, when you're not looking the right way."

"You are a former Crow then?" Fenris asked firmly.

"Oh, I am many things. Adventurer, skilled lover, former assassin, professional good-doer, occasional weekend warrior, oh so many things. And of course, admirer of strong women such as you," the Antivan elf said and smiled at Hawke.

"A bit too much flattery for my taste," Hawke said awkwardly, but Fenris ignored her remark.

"Those are a few too many titles for one little man," Fenris said subtly, taking advantage to mark his territory through the elf's own recognition of him being taller than the Antivan.

"I certainly do not wish to compare to you, my friend," the elf said calmly. "Or argue who was the bigger weapon."

"There is no point in arguing," Fenris said flatly. "My sword is bigger than yours." Hawke and Varric were dying inside trying not to laugh at this subtle cockfight and at Fenris probably not realising what he was saying.

"Ah, I knew a gorgeous man with a sword as big as yours once," the Antivan said charmingly and crossed his arms. "And he was heavily… _compensating._"

* * *

><p><strong>Are you happy now? Filling the gaps. And with a certain handsome favorite Antivan of some, yes? Yes. <strong>


	13. Magic Is Meant To Serve Rogue

"…And he was heavily…_compensating._"

Silence. Murderous, dreaded, royally horrifying silence.

The Antivan chuckled softly and leaned over to Hawke, "Should I tell him or should you?"

"What?" Fenris growled angrily.

"I'll tell you when you're older," Varric said calmly.

The utterly bestial scowl on Fenris said he was prepared to _compensate _in action at any moment for the searing silence that had suddenly shed over the whole courtyard. Although any such form of open assault was foolish and he was not about to get them all killed because of a smug elf with a knack for flirting with death. And yet he was boiling inside, without much awareness of the motive behind it. Perhaps it was instinct, the instinct risen in men when another throws the gauntlet, something only men understood. He also understood that this elf might as well have presented his genitals to Hawke out in the open, for this was the signal he was overly trying to send ever so subtly.

Then there was the obvious matter of how irony worked. You know how one shuts up, and only after he makes a fool out of himself, finally thinks of a good come-back? Well, he wished he had said "And your much talk and no action I should take as _not _a compensation for your lack of genuine balls?" But no. He was silent.

"Nonsense, my friend. I can smell a man playing dumb from miles away. He is no fool," the Antivan said confidently. "Tell me, my friend, do you wish to compete for points?"

"No need. I have no interest in competing in the little muscle league," Fenris said nonchalantly, still not realizing how it sounded, for he was pertaining simply to his small physique.

The blonde assassin grinned cockily, "It is not the size that matters, it is where you get to put it," he said sharply while raising an eyebrow faintly directed at Hawke. The sound of that sentence made Hawke draw an annoyed scowl, but not nearly as furious as the one on Fenris. It didn't matter anymore why he had been annoyed before, now it seemed the elf was plainly using the only female in the group as means to tease him. And he did not like the sound of that. It made Hawke sound like an object to everyone's disposal. If not for whatever other reason that made him want to shove his fist in this man's heart, at least this was reasonable.

Whatever witty line Hawke was going to say was quickly interrupted by Fenris's determined cold voice, "Before or after it gets cut off?"

"Whoa, whoa, nobody's cutting anyone's anything off," Hawke quickly intervened with a huge frown.

"Oh my dear Hawke to the rescue, a woman after my own heart," the Antivan elf said warmly.

"She is not yours," Fenris snarled in a deep voice, taking another faint step in front of Hawke.

"Oh? Is she yours then?" the elf asked confidently, grinning to no end because he knew this was not a question that was going to be answered.

"I'm not a fan of _possessive_ pronouns," Hawke said assertively, giving Fenris an angry look as she finished. The look on his face was alight with annoyance as well as confusion, but he decided to remain aloof and unperturbed. This was utterly ridiculous.

The incandescent tension was fortunately saved by Armand's return from a window nearby. He leapt forward with a perfectly silent roll-over on the ground and approached them commandingly. "It is done."

"Smooth timing," Varric muttered grumpily.

"This _would _be the time to illuminate us all," Hawke said mockingly. "Well?"

The elf chuckled, "Yes, so it is." He looked at the dark and quiet palazzo near the courtyard there were in and said, "This is Occhio Del Corvo, or what is left of it. It used to be an Antivan bank, well, to the outside eye at least."

"And?" Hawke pressed.

"And through those corridors lies a passage that leads to one of the hidden prisons of the Crows."

"How in the Void is it then that we haven't gotten ambushed by now?" Varric asked in confusion.

Armand explained coldly, "It is abandoned. Now it is only a garden starting from behind. The old passages in this side of the city are infested with dangerous creatures and heavily booby-trapped. They would not look twice to guard such a place."

"Oh, so we're the ones to do a thorough spring cleaning," Hawke muttered grumpily.

"Indeed, we are the extermination team," the Antivan said in amusement. "As soon as we get through those passages, alive and well if it's not too much to hope for, the fireworks will begin."

"No more riddles please," Hawke pressed in annoyance and eyed the elf straight.

The blond elf nodded coldly. "There are mainly two things we are supposed to do – very swiftly and effectively. First is to free some dozen people rotting inside. There is a very old passage connected to the lot that will lead to an extension of the city sewers. We guide their escape through it, arise and a gondola awaits to lead them to the harbour. Second, get our hands on a few documents of royal importance, but I can take care of that."

"There's always a third," Hawke said perceptively with a grin.

"Oh, there's also a fourth and fifth, but I'm not such a grand idealist. Although, if I get to quickly kill one guild master in _particular_, I'd say with utmost happiness that this was a fine enough Tuesday."

"I don't understand. Are you trying to cause a scene to provoke them all?" Hawke asked in suspicion.

"But of course. And why not?" the Antivan elf said in delight. "As long as I take the offensive instead of simply killing all the assassins they send after me, I am the wiser, no?"

Such stupidity and utterly idiotic idealism. For all his faint dreams of going straight to Minrathous and somehow slaying his master, even Fenris knew this was no 'battles shared are battles won' situation.

"How is _that _wise?" Fenris asked angrily. "This is not just one guild master. It is a whole guild you are going after. You would need quite an army to overthrow such a dangerous system."

"Why should I not seize upon an opportunity to dethrone them one by one, because they do, in fact, work separately? No army is necessary for a guild full of people who sleep with a knife under the pillow even against their own wives. I am simply using their own weapon against them."

"While placing everyone else in danger," Fenris retorted coldly.

"I am not forcing anyone to come with me. My friend Armand chose to be on my side, as did your lady. If you are not comfortable with the nature of our business, you are free not to get involved, by all means." The elf paused and looked at Hawke for an answer, "I shall ask nothing more of you than you are willing to give."

Fenris didn't say anything for three seconds, only to finally respond with, "She is not my lady."

Hawke sighed and rolled her eyes, "Seriously? That's all you got from his speech?"

"Semantics are utterly important, Hawke," Varric said in amusement.

The elf chuckled in delight, "Hah, you are quite right. One can misunderstand so much in these situations," he said with the most joyful grin. Subtleties aside, he was right. There were too many mixed signals coming and going from this charming triangle and the assassin was enjoying most of it.

But enough, it was time to choose sides. Hawke looked at Varric and Fenris instinctively and said with a shrug, "I want to do this. It's up to you if you wish to join me." She smiled shortly in reassurance of her respect for at least _some_ boundaries. "No hard feelings."

"Like I said, Bianca and I are good to go," Varric said assertively and nodded at Hawke.

Hawke smirked warmly at him, however shortly, for her face swiftly died in coldness as she turned to Fenris for his answer. Her eyes shed no glimpse of command or plea in them. He returned her look with hesitant eyes and masked concern, looking at the ground as if to examine the newly noticed tiles on the floor. Then his eyes rose and grew dark and determined, followed by a chivalrous nod directed at her. "I remain at your side."

"Phew, I thought I had to beg," Hawke said sarcastically with a warm smile.

"I must confess, I have met few people such as you who would offer their help without sought for their own personal gain," the blonde elf said knightly. "Unless there is a catch. Most times it is so, 'tis true."

Hawke's face fiercely drew a small, contained scowl enough to unsettle everyone, to which the Antivan quickly corrected himself, "Of course I do not mean to insult you. You have my gratitude."

"As you do mine," Armand said sharply, but a hint of truthful warmth came alight in his tired eyes. This short insightful look of this bone-hard austere man quickly directed at Fenris and turned into a gazing approval look. _You've got a good one, don't let her go, _his eyes said to him, to which Fenris only faintly nodded with his eyelids, trying to contain whatever smile was coming forth. "Come, we must hurry."

* * *

><p><strong>Inside the Abandoned Building<strong>

Apparently, to be _perfectly _sure, they had to climb up on the roof and slide down through a crack. It wasn't long before they entered the main abandoned hall, which absolutely reeked and whispered death. In such heavy silence, they went through a narrow door; and then, in a hollow stone passage in which they could hear their own breath in the wind, they crept along the wall until their shadow leapt out in a new faintly shimmering light. Armand and his friend stopped and looked at one another, their whispers like the rustling of dry leaves.

"What is it?" Hawke asked quietly as she drew near them, afraid suddenly this exhilaration in her would die.

They saw again that nightmare landscape which only ever so politely told them to back the hell away if they valued their own lives. Hawke felt the chill of loneliness, the chill of guilt.

"He's there," Armand said sharply. "Your soon to be wounded one."

"I've always loved the smell of near death," the Antivan said confidently and drew out his daggers.

In the breath of a second, the two disappeared and as Hawke looked behind, Varric did as well. For all _intended _purposes, rogues would always be rogues. And effective ones. Hawke and Fenris drew out the swords from their sheaths, ignoring the feeling inside that they were idiots, and caught up quickly from behind. The room was filled with poisoned gas and whatever bodies once breathed inside were no longer living now.

"_Braska_," the Antivan elf said childishly. "You are getting old, Amadeo, because your eyesight cruelly sucks _balls._"

"I am not good with faces, but he had a rather distinctive _butt_," Armand said while appearing very serious, to which everybody froze in complete confusion.

The elf surprisingly chuckled, "Oh you always did crack me up, Amadeo. Alas, we are still rid of one asshole, regardless."

"That was a _jest_? Shit, what happened to good old knock knock jokes?" Hawke asked awkwardly while following them through yet another passage.

"One requires a particular fine taste to understand Amadeo's humour," the elf said joyfully. "It's the kind you never see coming."

"So kind of like surprise butt-sex," Hawke said in amusement, to which Armand gave her a short but murderous enough look for her to back off.

"Careful, my dear, you never know when it will be your turn," the Antivan grinned confidently.

"You know me, I disavow any other way of being sodomized," Hawke said sarcastically.

"Well, that_ could_ be arranged, no?" the Antivan said playfully.

_Careful 'dear', before__** you**__ get sodomized by a sword, _Fenris thought angrily while walking behind the elf. He was getting on his nerves more quickly than the abomination ever managed to.

"So that's your way with the ladies? You take some ice, step on it and then say 'Well now that I broke the ice, let's do the snake and cave dance'?" Hawke asked in amusement.

"That _did_ work on several occasions," the elf chuckled joyfully. "Now why do you look at me that way? What can a man do, when it seems more _indirect _ways like flattery do not work at all in his favour?" the Antivan said while chuckling confidently.

"He could give up," Hawke said grumpily and rolled her eyes.

"Now you're just making it more challenging. I see what you are doing there, my dear," the Antivan said with a grin.

_Back off_, was what she would have wanted to say, but she knew a fine stratagem when she saw one. The elf was masterfully deflecting from drawing attention to his identity by pointless flirtations he knew would not truthfully lead anywhere. She had to keep playing his game until she found a weak link. "Truly? I thought my cover was well hidden," she simply said nonchalantly. Little did she pay attention from behind, to the impeding _surprise _of a certain other elf ticking like a time bomb and soon about to burst.

They returned to silence and moved quickly along the spiral stairs through the next dark passage. 'Adonis' pressed to go up, rather than down, and the cracks, in this obviously new building they arrived in through all those hidden corridors, let the faint moonlight creep in over their heads. The sky was a pale violet now that the clouds were gone, the stars small and faint, the air around them sultry and fragrant even as they distanced themselves from the small opening.

Next came a precipice made so because most of the existing stairs had collapsed and landed somewhere far down. The sea of pitch-black they saw as they leaned to gaze down all but showed their contour. It was time for a bit of quick thinking. And jumping. They managed, of course, these were two assassins used to harsh situations and stunning acrobatics, Fenris himself who hadn't exactly lived in a picnic during his long escape…and then there was Hawke who was always eager to flirt with death and give him a stroke as she walked sideways on a narrow edge with her back brushing against the walls and pretending she was about to fall. Or jumping suddenly, wall running because she lost patience to follow in her fellow elves' footsteps, hanging on to narrow edges and letting go to disappear down in the dark. Maker she was crazy.

And then there was Varric, who was pissing his pants despite his eagerness to participate in the Cirque du so Gay jumping experiment. Having legs much shorter and less flexible than the rest of them, they had to wait for him, hold on to him or catch him when he jumped last. He had never felt so alive, he said. Well, at least Varric knew how to look on the bright side, whereas Fenris was currently battling an aneurism as Hawke kept disappearing from sight, using her swords as climbing tools, as if jumping childishly into the darkness wasn't enough.

There were some very small cracks in the high walls they were climbing down, although not enough to always spot her landings. The shadows still pressed in from all sides, and just when Hawke leapt forward to grab onto a ledge, her hand stumbled and she slipped down while cursing _Bloody shiet._

"Hawke!" Fenris screamed loudly as he rapidly jumped away from the wall to descend upon the darkness that swallowed her down the opposing wall.

"Hawke, are you okay?" Varric also shouted with no more care for being sneaky and shrouded in shadows.

"I'm alright- ight- ight...!" her voice echoed from somewhere, followed by a harrowing silence which disturbed Fenris and quickened his moves almost preternaturally. "… It smells in here...ere...ere."

Fenris descended through the interlocking metal circles hanging from the wall and quickly let go when he heard her last sentence resound much closer. He landed on a large stone floor with no Hawke in sight in whichever directions his eyes roamed agitatedly. He would have screamed again after her with no care for whatever enemy force he would give out their position to, but his ear suddenly twitched as he slowly looked above to see a blue-coated body shouting _Maker's balls_ and falling, as a few pieces of wood broke in half above his head.

He stopped her fall right in time as he caught her in his arms. Her eyes were widened and her face was pale behind the waterfall of hair covering it. She smiled crookedly in silence to balance out the bestial scowl that painted Fenris and his fiercely pumping vein on his forehead. "Oops?" she said innocently. Fenris's eyes grew much darker and calmer and just when she thought everything was fine, he dropped her undauntedly like a dead weasel and she landed with a bang on the floor.

"Was that really necessary?" she asked in annoyance as she tried to get up, rubbing her back in pain while Fenris walked away nonchalantly.

"I don't know, was it?" Fenris said with complete lack of emotion, brushing dust off of his shoulder as if she wasn't even there anymore.

"My guess is on yes?" Hawke asked innocently and chuckled, as she came beside him and looked up to see the rogues landing swiftly and quietly on the floor, unlike them.

"Next time I won't even bother to catch you," Fenris said coldly.

"Tough love," Hawke said mockingly with a raised eyebrow. "Well, what can you do."

"You can cease with the reckless clown act," Fenris uttered viciously while eyeing her with disapproval.

Hawke's eyebrow arched to the skies and the corner of her lips curled into a contemptuous, unimpressed sneer as she looked at Fenris and then calmly said, "I _could _be more considerate, 'tis true, but then I'd pass up as overly vigilant and annoyingly prudent and that spot in the group has already been filled by you, oh mightly Calenhad." Then she turned her back on him nonchalantly and looked at her hands. "On a totally unrelated note, your zipper is open."

* * *

><p><strong>A few passages and dead assassins later…<strong>

"So…" Hawke started as she approached 'Adonis' in yet another dark and lonely hallway.

"Yeeeees?" he responded playfully, tilting his head towards her.

"How long have you been wondering this city?" she asked calmly.

The elf raised an eyebrow and said confidently, "What kind of question is that? My whole life of course."

"I mean now and after you left the order." She grinned fiendishly. "It's near implausible that you remained in the city."

The elf sneered only shortly and resumed with joyfully deflective smile, "Oh, that. Not too long, no."

Hawke narrowed her eyes and remained unyielding. "So where have you been this whole time?"

"Oh, so many questions. What are you, my wife? I haven't even bedded you yet," the Antivan snarled in annoyance.

"Well…" Hawke said awkwardly, to which Fenris's elven ear twitched almost as if it had been electrically shocked. "That depends. Is it even possible to be a candidate for such a position?"

"Performing a survey, Hawke?" Fenris asked grumpily from behind.

The elf laughed softly, "It seems you already have a candidate on your own end and I would hate to stand between that."

Hawke smirked confidently, "I'm a strong believer in marriage and its _lies. _So how about we get past this charade and straight to the point. What do you say?"

"And what would that point be?" the Antivan and Fenris asked at the same time.

"Take your time. They're obviously expecting different answers," Varric said from behind.

Hawke looked strangely at Fenris and appeared to quickly decide to ignore him. She looked back at the elf and only got to say, "My point is –" before a whole wall next to them collapsed to the ground, at which point she felt two gauntlets grabbing her in a swift motion and shoving her from left to right only to bump her head in a wall and fall heavily on her side.

It turned out both elves got a hold of her and shoved her into different directions, to which Varric shouted, "ALRIGHT. WILL YOU PLEASE DECIDE WHO GETS THE GIRL ALREADY? It's kinda bad for her health and there's no Anders here to save the day."

The blonde elf quickly turned his curious look to Varric as if he recognized the name. It was a short expression, but enough to be caught by the redheaded human lie detector. Meanwhile, Hawke got up coughing and brushed the dust off her shoulder. "When two cocks fight, the third swoops in suavely and wins." Then she winked at Varric, "So, what are you doing later?"

"Oh, I've got a few dozen cigars to smoke, brandy to drink and a beautiful crossbow with your name on it," Varric said confidently.

"Oh I love it how you stay so true," Hawke said in amusement. "Now, what caused the explosion? Pretty empty follow-up for an ambush."

"They are on to us, obviously," the cocky elf said without much concern. "I never quite liked being bottom. Let us change positions, shall we?"

In yet another narrow hallway, these Crow guards were _annoying. _They were too agile, too quick to escape their sight, too swift to catch them off guard. Much better opponents than the rogue wannabe mercenaries in Hawke's usual enemy repertoire. For her, fights were fairly easy because she was the least expected to tank the groups, which made her swift whirlwinds and scythes all the more effective. As for Fenris, well, it didn't seem to be much of a problem for him. His lyrium glow allowed him to refract through most backstabs and surprise the enemies with his surprise fist through the heart and die dead enough move. But now their group was much too fiercely imbalanced for her taste and it grew clearer that Armand and his friend were using her as the tanking shield for their surprise lethal attacks with either their Antivan stilettos or their interestingly enough ghost blades coming from their sleeves.

Nevertheless, it was still _awesome._ Oh yes, the air never ravished them heavier with such vigour and freshness coming out of a good, successful kill of someone who pleaded for destiny to come back and bite them. Dead was dead and it that was all that mattered. She ducked, dual-swept their legs and kicked them backwards only to plant the two swords in their chests. Fenris was always behind her, ready to powerfully intercept all backstabs coming at her. At one point it grew extremely misty, as both the assassins on their side and on the enemy's threw gas bombs during fights. As she kicked an elf in the nuts and prepared to finish him off, something dragged at her coat from behind and grabbed her by the shoulder painfully. Fenris made her duck down and she rolled over and away as a crazed elf marched into him. At this point he was growing in lack of a calm demeanour during combat. He grabbed the light-armoured elf by the bicep and rolled him in the air before he fell on the ground and Fenris planted a sword in his chest. Good sign. Usually he beheaded people without mercy.

His short delight of triumph as he saw this was the last of them got suddenly interrupted as he felt and heard a fierce splash of blood smear his hair and his back. The blood bath erupted from Hawke's sword which was plunged right through and out of an assassin's head which almost got to stab him in the ribs. As the corpse was pulled down by gravity, Hawke looked at him calmly and winked.

"It seems Amadeo did not exaggerate your skills," the Antivan said proudly. "You have piqued my interest."

"Well, you have piqued my indifference," Hawke said coldly.

The elf chuckled and shook his head while looking down, muttering in Antivan with a smile, "O, cara mia, mishante vello troppo." (Note: It's my take on creating Antivan – this is _not_ Italian – He said to himself _Oh my dear, I miss you so much - _which was quickly misheard for the term 'vishante' / 'eat' in Tevene.)

"That's it," Fenris snapped fiercely and shoved the elf into a wall.

"Normally I know exactly what I said that piss people off, but this time I must confess I have not one clue," the elf said in amusement as he remained unperturbed by Fenris's assaultive grip.

Fenris jumped down his throat and snarled, "Is it not enough that you speak like a baboon in heat; now you have to spit your perversions in your own tongue so nobody understands?"

"That is a nice trick you have, my friend, but I assure you I can still kill you in six different ways right now; it may be best for both of us if that doesn't happen, yes?" the blonde elf said joyfully to Fenris, without trying to escape his assault just yet. "As for whatever you think you have heard, I am quite certain you have _misheard._"

"He is Tevinter," Armand said calmly. "There is plenty to be misheard."

"Oh, Heaven," the blonde elf gasped and rolled his eyes. "You base your own pompous language for translating _my _beautifully glorious tongue? Such insolence."

"My apologies. I shall endeavour to consult a dictionary for your rank gutter tongue," Fenris said roughly while narrowing his eyes and keeping his grip on the elf's throat.

The elf laughed heavily, "My friend, you sting my heart with such hostility. Truly you do."

Fenris eyed him coldly and his glow seemed to become brighter. "That's not the only thing I can do to your hea-" A sudden blow hit him at the back of head and as he turned around his angry eyes beheld an even angrier scowling Hawke.

"Do you two need a room, or a bed?" she finally asked apathetically in utter annoyance.

"I could make do with just an alleyway if necessary," the blonde elf said in innocent delight. "This is all just fun and games, my friend, you needn't let your temper rise."

Fenris remained undaunted, although his eyes grew darker and his nostrils were viciously flaring. Nevertheless, he looked back at the elf and dropped him nonchalantly. "It was your choice to play with fire."

The elf sighed and smiled delightfully as he groomed his clothes. "'Tis the spice of life, and I never did mind a few burns."

"_Mordev beium testes,_" Fenris muttered unemotionally.

"Oh, was that a flirt? Translating your pompous Tevinter is so hard," the elf said in amusement.

"Not unless you consider death threats or calling your mother a whore a pick-up line," Varric said while chuckling.

"My Mother _was _a whore, and as for the death threats… I can work with those," the elf said self-assuredly.

"_I said, _bite my balls," Fenris surprisingly said without shame. Bad sign; this clearly meant he lost track of all his patience and control.

"Hmmm I can work with that too," the elf said with a playful grin. "Denying me is a crime against the Maker himself."

He just had to press it further, didn't he? Fenris snapped and came back to him. "That's quite alright. I come from godless people."

Armand quickly came between them and said in a sharp tone, "Ill' marital et fidus coniugi suam, hoc non nisi per iocum avaris," then he paused and sighed while shaking his head. "Na festis ex nostrem pericum nove."

Fenris narrowed his eyes and muttered back in his language as though he were unimpressed, "Festis opifex non curaevat." Then he gestured and pointed in an ambiguous direction. "Terra sic iocud parvum gustum havet," he appeared to say in annoyance and shoved his palm as if to stop, "quobis ei dellare mortus brevi tempore canavuram."

While they kept arguing in controlled tones in their strange language, Hawke and Varric exchanged shrugs and perplexed looks while the Antivan shook his head with an entertained smirk. One just had to look at their body language. Armand was not really expressing himself in a commanding or fatherly tone, but he looked as though he was clearing something out. Fenris appeared unimpressed and revolting politely against whatever the other said and his hand gestures expressed annoyance or impatience. Hawke tried to make something out of it, but could only understand two or three words she heard him say before. Apart from the overly repeating _kevesh, vishatta _and _aluvin valla kal _which Hawke learned over the years were all curse words, at best, all she got was "cold", "horse" and "death", which didn't really… have anything to do with this. Except for death, but one could be so pessimistic… At last, Armand seemed to smile for a second and said something calmly, at which Fenris responded with a curious silence while looking down, followed by a nod in agreement.

"Well, if everyone's speaking in different tongues, I might as well start rambling in old Alamari too," Hawke said in annoyance, her eyebrow arching sneeringly to the skies above.

"Oh, that is a seriously disgusting language," the blonde elf suddenly said.

Hawke grinned shortly and pointed at the elf, "AHA! And how would you know that, hm? Perhaps you can say _ashes to ashes _while you're at it?" she said assertively, pertaining subtly to the Sacred Ashes.

"I have travelled far and wide, my dear," the elf diverted calmly and sought to resume walking.

He stopped when Hawke said confidently from behind, "No one speaks old Alamari except for the regional people in the surrounding areas of Haven. What in blazes could you possibly have had to do there in your _travels _far and wide under the blue, blue sky?"

The elf smiled and rolled his eyes, "Someone needed _assassinating _as I recall. It was a long time ago."

Hawke scowled fiercely and pointed at him, "You are as terrible a liar as you probably were an assas-… Yes, indeed… You _are _that _terrible _assassin, aren't you?"

"I disagree," the blonde elf said and turned around with a grin. "I am ridiculously awesome."

"Zevran," she said assertively, almost sounding like an accusation as she approached him and he backed off against a wall.

The elf grinned under her assaultive posture. "Yes, baby. Say my name again."

She ignored his pointless imperatives and narrowed her eyes. "I have a bone to pick with you when we're out of here."

"Is it the same one I'm thinking of?" Zevran asked innocently. She didn't answer, instead murderously growing a scowl. "Oh come now, that one is Ferelden," Zevran continued subtly, without caring much for blowing his cover anymore.

"Keep your boner for your wife," Hawke said sharply.

Fenris chuckled suddenly. "I can't imagine how she puts up with a husband like you."

"She enjoys it. I make _sure _she does," Zevran said confidently. "_You _on the other hand…"

"I what?" Fenris asked while crossed his arms.

"I hope you last as long in bed as you do in arguments. Hum," Zevran paused and grinned at her. "I should be asking this of Hawke."

She rolled her eyes and backed away. "Hawke this, Hawke that. Why does everything fall to me?"

Zevran laughed in delight. "And why not? Your skills in leadership, your badass beauty; men should bow their heads as you walk, my dear. I dare say you could rule an entire country."

Hawke snorted quickly and Fenris chuckled heavily. "She's too proud for that."

"Such a shame," Zevran said charmingly. "That is exactly what separates true leaders from tyrants. Alas."

"Enough of this hero worship, I'm getting seriously nauseated," Varric intervened angrily.

"Hm, yes, I can see now just how fiercely ridiculous this whole thing is," Hawke said grumpily as she started walking forward.

"What is?" Zevran asked from behind in confusion.

"She has a strong case of hero worship for your wife," Fenris said calmly while surprisingly smirking with ease as he talked to Zevran now.

"I do not!" Hawke screamed and her face turned red from blushing.

"I will tell her she has a fan," Zevran said in amusement from behind.

She stopped and turned to him. "I can tell her so myself, if you don't mind."

"Tsk. It is not as if I'm hiding her in my pants, much as I would like. A bit paranoid, are we not?" Zevran said charmingly.

"You have _no _idea," Fenris said grumpily.

"Maker's dangling testicles, even HIM you turn and gang up on me with?" Hawke almost shouted, cheeks burning red. She pointed at Fenris, "Fuck you," then pointed at Zevran, "Fuck you," then stopped at Armand and Varric. "You two are good."

"Heeh- now what was that for?" Zevran asked with a scowl.

"You know how once a month women turn crazy for about thirty days?" Fenris asked sarcastically.

"You know how something about your face attracts my fist?" Hawke retaliated angrily.

Fenris rolled his eyes and turned his head to Zevran, "Told you."

"Yeah, keep rolling your eyes Fenris, maybe one day you'll find a brain back there."

Zevran chuckled, "Heavens, such rudeness, you're not even married yet."

"No worries there. If I was his wife, I'd poison his drink," Hawke said confidently.

"If I was your husband I'd drink it," Fenris retorted sharply.

Zevran chuckled again and looked at Armand. "No, trust me. They are a terrible example."

"You don't say," Armand muttered grumpily with a contained smile.

"At fighting as rogues, yes, you are most certainly correct," Hawke waved at them irritably.

"Well, that's why we have monstrous warriors such as you to keep us safe and warm while we dance with knives and swim in glory," Zevran teased cockily.

"And at some point drown in their own arrogance," Hawke finished grumpily. "Wait, _what _in the Void is that?"

They arrived in a grand windowless hallway, being so deep beneath the surface already, which contained at the other end a massive pair of doors resembling a vault made out of fine brass and steel and ridiculously complex locking mechanisms.

"Tell me it's time we turn around," Varric muttered in annoyance.

"Sadly, no," Zevran said and sighed, "There is no other way and I think this is actually the right destination." He turned and gave Armand a warm smile. "What do you think?"

Armand's eyelids fell halfway and groaned,"I think I'm too old for this sh-"

"Those rings - they're interlocking in some strange mechanism," Hawke said in fascination as she approached the doors. "Well, now it's time you _swim in glory, _rogue."

"Ah, I have always been terrible at lockpicking," Zevran complained innocently. "What do you say, Amadeo? We blow it up?"

"Of course," Armand said calmly while reaching into his coat.

"No great idea or story starts with _What do you say we blow it up,_" Varrilc quickly intervened. "Can't I just have a look? It looks fiercely dwarven anyway."

"You do what you have to do, my dwarven friend," Zevran said assuredly. "In the meantime we make our bomb, yes?"

"Good god," Fenris muttered in annoyance.

"Hasty judgements are _criminal, _forgive the pun," Hawke said quickly. "Let's just calm down and work this thing out. So there are three rings in the centre and two grand metal bars forming an inverted V contraption above. They're held by these two side ledges. We either crack these up or resolve to… "

"Look out!" Zevran shouted from behind. They backed away in terror as Armand threw a rather huge bomb already aflame right into the centre of the vault door.

The searing noise of the explosion deafened everyone and their eyes grew blind and alight as they covered themselves and ran away from the epicentre. The ground shook colossally hard and the walls nearby started to collapse, dropping giant pieces of stone all around the group. "NOT TODAY," Varric shouted in annoyance as he gripped tightly at one of Hawke's legs.

"You've _got _to be kidding me," Zevran scowled innocently when the ground finally calmed away. The massive door was perfectly intact.

"So much for swimming in glory, eh?" Hawke said mockingly and approached the door again. "Let the smart people take over from now, yes?"

"Whatever," Zevran muttered irritably.

Hawke examined the complicated mechanism as Fenris came beside her and eyed it curiously. "Do you have a theory?"

"This contraption here is held on both sides by glass plates," Hawke said as she pointed and tried not touch them. "If I wasn't sober, I'd say we're in a Circle."

"There is no Circle here," Zevran shouted angrily. "Care to postulate another perhaps more reasonable theory?"

"If it were a Circle I'd be-…" she paused and stopped herself from continuing when Fenris flinched. She inhaled heavily and caught Fenris by the elbow to drag him closer.

"Yes?" he said politely to mask his confusion as he looked at her insistently.

"This is –"

"Why are you whispering?"

"_Because _this door is sealed by," Hawke paused and looked at the group of rogues who were peacefully ignoring them as Varric showed them his crossbow, "the door is sealed by magic."

"And … it can hear us?" Fenris asked sarcastically.

"And I don't need this to become a big fuss," Hawke hissed quickly. "If this door is a spitting replica of a vault of the Circle, then it needs to be opened by a mage and a Templar."

"Perfect. We should go for a quick run to Rialto and kidnap a Templar then," Fenris muttered grumpily.

"There may be something else we can do before we resort to kidnapping," Hawke said while rolling her eyes. "Your markings… they rip through the particles of the Fade, don't they? That's why you can't actually move through walls or lifeless things in general, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't know," Fenris said calmly. "I know nothing of what they were actually designed for."

"Well I've got a pretty good idea," Hawke sneered. "If you touch that plate while your glow is on it might mistake you for a Templar."

"_How_ in the name of-"

"Just do it," Hawke growled quietly.

Fenris pressed his lips in annoyance and turned his lyrium glow on. "Fine."

"On the count of three," Hawke demanded assertively as she moved to the other plate and prepared to touch it. "One…" They looked at each other in amicable telepathy and a sudden form of trust built up to connect them in their exchange of seemingly angry looks. Lyrium-etched elf and warrior human mage alike, they stood in front of each side of the mechanism and drew their hands out in front of the silver glowing plates as if two sides of a blind coin suddenly met to fuse for the greater good of the people who restlessly tossed it from one resentful hand to another. "Two…" Fenris inhaled heavily and prepared to dissipate his hand from the physical world when Hawke effortlessly nodded at him a silent _Three._


	14. The Witchburners In The Underworld

The closer you think you are, the less you actually see. This roamed through his mind as Fenris dissipated his hand and channelled the familiar searing wave of energy through the glass plate. He did not think of it that way, but by ripping through the particles of the Fade only to solidify his hand back into the physical world, he was doing the one thing mages couldn't do without piles of lyrium, complicated rituals and years of discipline. More so, mages could not really be in two places at the same time without actually _being _there and _wholly_, whereas he was like a thief who didn't need to roam whole in another realm to draw out the strength he needed. In fact, he didn't think he was drawing out anything. His ability was for all intended purposes, purely geographical. The magically sealed glass plate would sense his lyrium and the fact that he didn't have magical powers, but at the same time, it was as if his hand wasn't really there at all. He was, but he wasn't. That part struck him to wonder if Hawke felt that way about being a mage, only perhaps the opposite worked in this situation: she wasn't, but she ultimately was.

This thought in his mind lingered, as the blue waves of energy reflected from the glass plate at the same time with the waves glowing an incandescent red from the glass plate that Hawke was touching. It felt like a soft, but massive force field of magic had unravelled as a sudden wind started swiftly blowing through their hair and clothes and a thick clacking sound gave off the metal rings that were unlocking and distancing themselves from one another. They looked at each other in silence as the mechanisms one by one appeared as though a perfect force of mayhem dictated their upheaval. The vault shuddered and creaked, letting out monstrous metallic groans as the mechanisms slid in different directions. The inversed V contraption above them let out its own disturbing symphony which made them back away in instinct. A large clank followed the giant metal bars forming a perfect horizontal line that quickly severed itself in half and the bars resided on the edges. A necessary disruption in the face of the apparently _greater good_, and the vault opened as quickly as it had been deceived.

"_Hooolly _shit," Varric's voice echoed from behind them. "How did you…?"

"Oh, your little glowing trick seems to be really useful, my friend," Zevran uttered in joy as he approached Fenris. "One could only guess what sort of wonders it can do in more… ah… horizontal situations."

"Guessing is always free," Fenris said nonchalantly, containing his relief that his ability distracted them from thinking Hawke had anything _magical _to do with opening the door.

"Can I pay to see, then?" Zevran asked jokingly.

"No," Fenris said sharply.

"Ah, fine, I had to try, do not get mad … again. Alas," Zevran said while grinning. Then his head turned forwards to see what the vault contained and his shimmering amber eyes widened. "Holy crap."

"Is this the… prison you were looking for?" Varric asked awkwardly as they came into the grand room.

It was an enormous dark room which contained about eight giant black pillars on the edges and one even bigger one in the center. Each pillar was enveloped by some curiously looking metal pattern spiralling along their height. It depicted little X-s in the form of sharp daggers and each one bore the symbol of the Crows.

"Stop," Hawke shouted the group. "Don't take another step. Pressure plates," she said and pointed at the squares on the floor where all the pillars were.

"Santo cazzo Madre di Andraste." Zevran's shoulders sank and his joyful cocksure face disrupted its pretty child-like features in a deeply frustrated scowl once he noticed the nightmare landscape. "More puzzles?! Che cazzo!" He threw his arms in the air in desperation and paced backwards and forwards. "I feel like I'm in the Gauntlet again, bruti figli di puttana bastardi, fatti una pugnetta, mangia merde e morte!" (*Holy fucking mother of Andraste, *What the fuck! *Ugly bastard sons of bitches, have a wank, eat shit and die.)

Varric chuckled softly and elbowed Fenris. "I think I like Tevinter curses better. Anything in Antivan sounds like a love declaration."

"Yes, I declare with utmost sincerity my love for this incredibly frustrating _piece of shit_," Zevran shouted angrily.

"Easy there, Zevran. I thought you were a professional at this," Hawke said in amusement.

"I'm a professional at _killing _and _bedding_, not at solving puzzles," Zevran muttered grumpily.

"And what did you do before when this sort of thing happened?" Varric asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Tsk. I ask my wife, what do you think?" Zevran uttered roughly.

"So, not much difference between our little groups," Varric said in amusement and elbowed Hawke. "What do you say, boss?"

Hawke raised an eyebrow and appeared to be silently swearing in her language as well for calling her boss, but then she sighed and started walking nonchalantly around the pillars. "Maybe this isn't the right way to look at it."

"Oh, good, let's look at it with our heads on the floor and our legs up in the air," Zevran said grumpily and crossed his arms.

"Why are you so pissy all of a sudden?" Hawke asked assertively. "Seems to me you've been through this sort of business all your life, yet now you're acting like it's all virgin territory."

Zevran rolled his eyes and appeared that this time, he was not going to crack up any joke about the different connotations Hawke's words could have. "It _is _virgin territory, I have never been here before and it is inconceivable that the Crows would have such a room. Imagine you've known a city or your own house your whole life only to find out it is harbouring a whole new world in its secret nests!"

"I get it," Hawke said warmly. "Still, that's why you bring along someone like me. So take a chill pill and let me work this thing."

Zevran finally relaxed and chuckled. "That's exactly what the Warden would say."

"The Warden? So formal. Or did you forget her name?" Hawke asked in amusement.

"It is a habit to address her in formal terms when confronted with strangers," Zevran said calmly. "You know how it is."

"I do?" Hawke asked bewilderedly. "No, I don't think I do."

Zevran sighed. "You save the world, everybody loves you. Then you go back to being the primary babysitter in a world without chaos, people relax, they get tangled in first world problems and who will they have to blame? The Maker? No, no."

"Still not seeing how I can relate," Hawke said with a confused frown.

"You are a certified good-doer and a leader, no? Who do people go to bark at when things don't go their way and when they're _not _jumping and screaming 'Hawke to the rescue!'?"

"Oh, that." She coughed defensively. "I hardly notice anymore."

Fenris listened carefully as he pretended to examine the walls from a distance. As he did that, he heard Zevran chuckle softly. "Well, good. One could go mad in these situations. Me? I take delight in remaining in the shadows. It gives me more strength and time to do my part in taking care of _her._"

"Yeah, I get your drift, I think," Hawke said and rolled her eyes.

"No, not like that," Zevran said calmly. "Although that is also true. But my statement pertains to what I can do to protect and help her while she protects and helps everyone else. It is not a job for the faint-hearted, I will tell you th-"

"I don't need to be taken care of," Hawke quickly asserted firmly.

Zevran chuckled again softly, "You say that now, but when the time comes to count your blessings, do not forget those who silently watched over your back when you were not looking."

"Enough," Hawke pressed sharply.

"So… puzzle?" Varric intervened lightly.

"Right, puzzle," Hawke said while clearing her throat, for Zevran was starting to dwell on very dangerous territory. She turned back and looked at the walls. "These metal wheels on the wall look positively useless."

"The obvious pillar puzzle in the center is perhaps too obvious?" Fenris said calmly as he strolled along the opposing side of the room.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Hawke shouted back at Fenris as she looked at the silver wheels with very sharp, dagger-looking spokes arching out of the felloes. Perhaps a bit of a beautifully grotesque scenery with a lethal complicated puzzle in the hidden passages of some secret assassin prison was a bit too much.

Fenris grinned shortly. "If one could give credit to my 'countrymen' for something, it's making endless and complicated traps. This one seems child's play in comparison."

"I will let that one slide, Fenris, because it is the creation of only a part of my countrymen that I viciously hate," Zevran said grumpily with crossed arms. "But mind what you say about my dear Antiva."

"If one loves his country, that does not mean one must also love its people," Fenris said calmly. Armand approached him from behind and he turned back to face him. "Yes?"

"You have a theory, little bitch?" Armand asked sharply.

"I thought we were past the name calling," Fenris replied with a scowl.

"Hm. Can you account for being the opposite?" Armand asked calmly.

Fenris remained frowning with his arms crossed, but he decided quickly that they had enough time to argue over what was called for and what was not. He rolled his eyes and turned his back to Armand, examining the wheels of different sizes hanging on the wall. A large clanking sound echoed through the room and they instinctively turned back to see that Hawke had pressed something that made the wheels on both walls roll and slide to make a different shape, followed by a dozen stilettos shooting down from the ceiling and almost killing Varric and Zevran if they hadn't ducked down and rolled away from the sudden sharp rain of mayhem.

"I bet you wish you hadn't done that," Fenris shouted from the other side with a grin.

"Oh, up yours, Mister This Puzzle is Child's Play," Hawke shouted back angrily. "At least we now know you get a knife in your skull if you don't press the right lever."

"Yeah, let's not do that again though, hm?" Varric said grumpily while fixing up his clothes.

Hawke sighed and looked in different directions. Everything seemed a whole lotta distractions for nothing and she wondered if in reality one could simply step on some plate by accident that would make whatever hidden door there was open up and they would soon be on their way. The grand room crept her out enough as it was, seeming more that they were in a gothic Tevinter ... underground cathedral, than an old Antivan catacomb, statues of one-eyed ravens and gargoyles staring bestially at them from above on the high dark walls.

The closer you think you are, the less you actually see. Distraction on top of distraction, they would not get anywhere. As her brain kept boiling to find a solution, she spotted a few roses or some other resembling red flower tangled above in the central pillar. The plates around the flowers were roughly painted red too, as if these Crows really valued the art of showing off with macabre metal impersonations of blood being spilled on a silver plate to say "We stain the honour of the many with no mercy whatsoever."

Then it hit her that this, all of these little mechanisms and artsy objects in the room could have been magical just as the vault doors were. One just needed to find the weak link or the hidden lever.

"Hawke," Fenris shouted from the other side and pointed at the back of the central pillar. "Come see this."

She rushed by his side and look up to see a small wheel hidden at the back of the central pillar, deeply camouflaged in the plate patterns it was encaged in. "Shit, how did my eye miss that?"

"For one, your bangs are in the way," Fenris said grumpily. "For two…" he pretended to think arrogantly while caressing his chin, "Hm, what was two?"

"The number of testicles you will lose soon," Hawke said angrily.

"Oh, I'm positively scared," Fenris retorted sarcastically.

"Do you need a quick demonstration to catch the genuine feeling?" Hawke asked while taking a step closer, but stopped as Zevran came behind.

"Do you two need some time alone?" he asked innocently. "This sexual frustration between you two is starting to become bothersome."

"There is no frustration," Fenris replied sharply, then his face drew a sudden grin. "Well, not from my part at least."

"Fenris…" Hawke said innocently.

His eyebrows lifted in an unimpressed look. "Yes?"

"Your pants are open again," Hawke said calmly with a smile. Fenris's cheeks boiled red and he cleared his throat awkwardly as she walked away and Zevran was snorting like a child trying not burst into laughter.

"How about that wheel?" Armand asked finally while approaching the pillars.

"We blow it up?" Zevran asked innocently. "What, why are you looking at me like that?"

"Let's not blow anything else up unless it's _really _necessary," Varric said grumpily.

"Oh fine, but I must tell you, my dwarven friend, you are no fun," Zevran said charmingly. "What do you propose?"

"…Throw something you don't need on a pressure plate so we know what's coming for us?" Hawke intervened.

"A bomb?" Zevran asked childishly.

"Can we throw Broody?" Varric asked in amusement.

"You first," Fenris said grumpily.

"Look out!" Hawke shouted as she threw a heavy piece of stone wall between the pillars. As they backed away in terror, the piece of stone banged and fell back in their direction with a burst of storm dust that made all of them cough heavily. "Bloody asschabs piece of shiet puzzle. Why do the Crows need magical barriers?"

"Why would they place a magical barrier if there are pressure plates on the ground already?" Varric asked bewilderedly.

"It's the kind that denies lifeless things to enter. Someone has to actually step on them. Or…" Hawke paused and frowned. "I have to take a leak by the corner. Resume your theories."

"How did they even get such magic?" Fenris asked angrily. "What does a guild of assassins benefit from this?"

"Maximum security, any curious lemming fried to death, annoying the bazingas out of me? Take your pick," Zevran said grumpily and crossed his arms.

"Well I'm not seeing any real pattern here, so, might as well wait for Hawke," Varric said grumpily.

"The woman is the bravest one in the group I take it? I've been there before," Zevran said in amusement.

"It's not that she's the bravest, but…" Varric started but got interrupted.

"She's the craziest," Fenris finished flatly.

"And yet she has survived all this time," Zevran said joyfully. "Clearly, she is doing something right."

"This is ridiculous," Armand said in a low angry voice and started charging towards the barrier. "I'm going i-"

A terrible crowing sound echoed in the room as a swiftly flying blackbird came out of nowhere and charged beside the central pillar holding the missing piece. The very sharp sounds that the bird was making upheaved their awareness and balance. As the men got unsettled and tried to follow the bird with their eyes, the rapid black point in the air appeared to have caught the wheel in its talons and dropped it forcefully in-between the group.

"What the-" Hawke's startled voice echoed from the dark corner. "Where did _that _come from?" she asked in amazement as she came out and approached the group while fixing her pants.

"Santo cazzo di Madre, we surrounded by crazy," Zevran shouted as he picked up the wheel and gave it to Hawke. "Here, do what you will with it. After this is done, I'll be thinking about retiring."

"Talk is cheap," Armand said sharply. "You always say that and then you go do it again."

"What can I say? I'm an eternal optimist," Zevran said joyfully. "That and I have recently developed a large amount of incurable ambition."

As Hawke placed the wheel in the empty slot, the mechanisms started to shake and roll, severing the walls in halves, the plates moving away in opposite directions to reveal a curious statue with a one-eyed crow on each side. The clearly now magically sustained red flow of the roses formed a reflective connection with each eye of the crow statues and the light reflected again into each of the pillars. It was a beautiful eerie sight that whispered death and havoc, as well as tantalizing secrets and undoubtedly, a grand aura of mystique.

The plates encaging every pillar unlocked and moved in a spiral as each of them opened, revealing masses of little bottles containing a strange crimson liquid.

"Blood?" Fenris asked in confusion.

"Phylacteries," Hawke explained flatly. "Well, now you know how your assassins always seem to find you wherever you go. Hm. I really didn't expect the Crows to be so resourceful."

"Porca Madonna," Zevran cursed childishly. "This is the _last _time they fuck with me."

"I thought phylacteries are only created for mages in order for Templars to track them down if they escape," Fenris intervened coldly.

"They are," Hawke said calmly. "But it works just as well for blood that has no magic in it. The only thing you need is a mage to seal the blood and a Templar to use his fake lyrium-infused magic to connect with the vial and voila – it tracks the owner down before you say apostate."

"How?" Fenris asked sharply with a frown.

"Magic?" Hawke said in amusement, then her face grew dark, a speck of protest glowing bitterly in her eyes. "Well, blood magic. A bit of hypocrisy for the greater good, the Chantry says."

"The ones that condemn and punish the 'sinners' do so while doing the exact same thing?" Fenris asked in a bit of controlled outrage, as if the world finally made sense now. He shook his head with an amused angry smile. "Will wonders never cease."

"I told you they're a bunch of sodding hypocrites," Hawke said grumpily. "But anyway, to return to the matter at hand, yes. Now I'm getting the picture as to why the Crows are so good in their ways. They really don't let any opportunity to strengthen their control pass lightly."

"Well isn't it the same thing?" Zevran asked calmly. "Slavery."

"Privation of liberty," Fenris corrected. "It is not the same thing."

"You've got nothing left to choose but if you live and die before your master makes the decision for you, and nothing left to lose but your mind," Zevran said calmly. "Do not doubt it. It is the same thing."

"I don't follow. Are you comparing the Crows or the Circle to slavery?" Fenris asked with a controlled enough tone.

"Both, my friend," Zevran replied half-bitterly. "You and I and even the mages, we were baptised in the spilled blood of our own kin and it has been trained to run hot, so hot it is cold as ice. You understand?"

"Oh shit, the word that must not be used in front of H-… Broody has been spoken," Varric intervened grumpily.

"I understand," Zevran said quickly and turned his head to Fenris. "You are bothered by my comparison. It is not without cause that you should be so, but I must press on the simple fact that men hold darker taints than any beast. All of them. We should all be immured into a wall for safekeeping, never to get out and harm another."

"By that I imagine you are subtly pertaining to the opposite. That we should all be free so the scales are balanced and let justice be blind as nature is," Fenris said half-sneeringly. "You have not been in the Imperium. If all of Thedas begins letting mages free, we will all end up slaves to them. Trust me."

"Oh, of that I have no doubt," Zevran said calmly, but Fenris's approving look died when he finished his sentence, "that mages will rebel someday and there will be war and death until justice is made. It is a principle of nature to balance itself out through crisis and havoc. It is an accident waiting to happen. It's not about if it would happen, it's about when it would happen."

"And you approve of this?" Fenris asked with a heightened tone, his hands clenching into fists.

"It does not matter. It does not make one speck of a difference whether I cheer for the poor mages or I condemn them as if they were beasts. We are all beasts," Zevran said bitterly and nodded assertively towards Fenris. "Or do you disagree?"

His expression grew darker as Fenris looked at Hawke with the back of his eye and noticed she wasn't intervening with her perfectly reasonable and assertive arguments. "You have a point. But it's not my place to say more, truth be told. All I am saying is that neither the Imperium nor the Chantry give a good answer. And regardless of these realities, we were discussing how imbalanced your comparison of mages and slaves is."

"Look at this," Zevran said quickly and pointed at the thousands of blood vials. "Without this little symbol of containment, one is an illegal alien, an enemy combatant of the Chantry and of the whole world. Does this seem natural to you?"

Fenris pressed his lips hesitantly and didn't answer, to which Zevran smiled lightly. "Well, enough chit-chat I guess. The Crows, the Chantry, the tyrannical kings of Thedas, they've got their rules of conduct, and we have _ours._ And they are quite simple, if you ask me – be good or be dead."

"I couldn't say it any better," Hawke finally joined.

Zevran chuckled softly, his eyelids half-closing. "I've learned my lessons the hard way, mind you. I think this applies to everyone in this very room – every scar we have earned we had to bleed. Any time is long time, but one should have the right to be in charge of their own time, no?" He approached the vials of blood encaged in the pillars and sighed. "This is the mark of the beast. It could be some drops of blood, or some curious glowing tattoos," he said while looking at Fenris, then turned his head to the others, "or it can simply be a blade in a sheath. I really do not have the time or lack of heart to discriminate."

"Well, that was dramatic," Varric said finally. "This story is gonna score me millions."

"You honest thief, you," Hawke said while shaking her head mockingly.

Zevran laughed. "It is the only way." Then his face changed, growing colder by the second as if it just hit _now _that this was a wild goose chase and that there _was _a vial with his own blood, a needle in the haystack for all they saw. His shoulders sank and he finally cursed, "Oh santo cazzo, this is like dicks in vinegar."

"Like what in _what_?" Hawke asked in amusement.

"Now that's an image," Varric said while chuckling.

Zevran turned to them with a controlled scowl, "Tsk. And what are we supposed to do now? Break every vial hoping nobody took mine and Amadeo's to spice up their soup for their own morbid amusement?"

A deep, macabre-sounding voice echoed from a dark corner, "That will not be necessary."

Zevran's legs began to tremble and he backed away slowly, his eyes widened and his throat closing in from tension as a dark-coated man with long silver hair and blue eyes cold and sharp as a blizzard in the harsh winter stepped in from the darkness. He was wearing a vial of blood as a necklace with his arms crossed and locking his self-assured, cruel eyes onto Zevran. Behind him came a dozen light-armoured assassins, each one with a sharper and more fearsome gaze than the other with their slender and needle-pointed black stilettos shining in the red glow of the reflective magical light of the puzzle.

"Pasquale," Zevran said coldly.

The man nodded with an ice-cold grin, "Ah, Zevran. Finally decided to show your face again after so many years." He stretched his arms warmly as a make believe, his large blue eyes were fall of the inevitable zeal and thirst. And his rich silver hair shimmered in the dim light. He was a comely creature, even coated with dust as he was. Fenris could smell the catacombs on his garments. He could smell death on him as through he had lain down with putrid remains. But he was handsome, fine of build and proportion as the rare Tevinter warriors looked like; indeed, not unlike them at all. He could hear the botched Tevinter sounds in his Antivan accent quite perfectly. "Tell me, boy, has life been good to you all this time? Have you been blessed by luck as you usually were in the good old days?"

"But of course. I would not be here otherwise," Zevran said sharply, his controlled but raging hatred for this particular man resounding from his careful, flat tone.

"I hear you helped defeat the Blight in the south. Quite heroic of you, I must say, although I'm _sure_," he said and grinned deviously, "it was not quite so voluntary, no?"

"I've outgrown my ways of taking orders, Pasquale," Zevran said assertively. "It was my honest pleasure to give my blessing luck to a cause that deserved it."

"Yes, I'm certain you were quite thrilled and honoured to simply swoop in and help the one I ordered you to _kill_," Pasquale said mockingly and shook his head with a pretend sigh. "Ah, well, you were always the one to foolishly mix business with pleasure where the opportunity presented itself, weren't you? Yes, that's certainly how I remember it." He laughed heavily and kept his amused grin with his arms crossed and a raised eyebrow. "Tell me then, did your new mistress treat you better than me?"

At the sound of those last words, Zevran pressed his lips and tried to control the fierce instinct to draw his blades out and charge into him. The man knew exactly where to plunge sharply and roll the blade inside the wound to make him lose his temper. He didn't give him an opportunity to say more, as he turned his head to the other elf and said with a disquietingly warm tone, "Amadeo. I am impressed," he said while nodding his head towards him. "Zevran, we all know, he's a simple lemming and a flaming scoundrel that deserves every bit of his fate, but you – I truly did not expect _you _to turn."

Unlike Zevran, Armand kept himself extremely cool and sharp with his answers. "I am full of surprises."

"Hm." Pasquale chuckled warmly and turned his head behind. "You hear that, Avicus? Your little Amadeo has managed to surprise us more effectively that you have ever dreamed."

"Indeed he did," a dark-hooded man said in a deep voice from behind, coming from in-between the armoured assassins. He was a tall, dark-haired man with eyes as blue and cold as the guild master's. Armand's blood froze and he swallowed heavily, the reason behind it which Fenris quickly understood was that this man had been his master and by the sound of the name, he was Tevinter and a magister. Suddenly the sharp, bone-hard elf he once knew turned pale and deeply paralyzed, all while still keeping a cool posture. This controlled behaviour effectively slipped everyone's eyes who had not been slaves. He knew better. "It's been a long time, Amadeo."

"Not long enough, I'm afraid," Armand said with dark dead-set eyes and sharply controlled rage.

"It is a joy to see you in good health," Avicus said in an eerie warm tone. "Although I would never have expected it to be otherwise. Not with you."

Amadeo's eyes seemed to say as far as Fenris understood that he wished this man would shut his mouth and that everyone would draw their blades so he could charge into him and slit his throat on the spot. "Cast your eyes elsewhere, mage," Fenris quickly said. Armand spat on the ground in silence at the same time. It was enough said.

The mage caressed his chin while examining Fenris. "I have more enemies that I thought, so it seems. And who might you be?" he asked warmly while looking at Hawke, because she was the only human in their team and the least apparent one to have any business for or against the Crows. She quickly caught her fellow elves' faintly shaking heads that silently told her not to reveal anything about herself, or anyone for that matter.

"Me? I'm nobody, really," Hawke said with a cocky grin.

The long silver-haired man arched his eyebrow curiously and narrowed his eyes. "Well, Nobody, I am Pasquale and this is Avicus. A pleasure to meet you and your companions."

"Such manners, Pasquale, truly in the last place a girl would ever look," Hawke said with a controlled mocking tone.

"But of course. I would not dare to make an entrance otherwise. After all, you are guests in my home," Pasquale replied courteously and bowed shortly. His voice was refined, well-modulated and he spoke a beautiful trade tongue in his strange accent. "Tell me. How does a beautiful lady with clearly fine taste and I'm guessing a few skills up her sleeve," he said and pointed at her blue and red coat and the sheaths she forgot to hide beneath, "end up with such disgusting creatures?" he finished, gesturing mockingly at the elves.

"What can I say – I have bad taste in men," Hawke replied flatly.

Avicus laughed joyfully. "I've watched you from the shadows all this time. You led them here and you solved our ancient puzzle. Clearly, you are a bright girl and a practical spirit," he said and grinned deviously as he continued, "who would do well to reason which side to choose so her day would not be ruined."

"Foolish," Hawke said bravely as she took a step forward in an assertive position. "The ornament around your neck speaks enough for itself on how disgusting a cazzo's _you _are, pardon my Orlesian."

"Foolish?" Pasquale asked calmly. "We have never been foolish. We do the work of the Maker as we serve Him through death. Without death, without justice for those who are truly wicked, how could there have been Andraste?"

"You've _got _to be kidding," Hawke said with her arms crossed. "That's the dumbest most macabre statement I've ever heard to excuse your guild."

Pasquale sighed while keeping his grin and the dark-haired handsome mage approached her as he stretched his palm out. "Consider it our courtesy – if one so powerful and intelligent as you would become one of our leaders, we could be a legion in the catacombs. As it is, we are a dreadful few." In that moment she understood, that he knew she was a mage, maybe because she solved the puzzle, and the two or three dark-hooded figures behind the other assassins were Crow mages. Then it hit her that the one-eyed raven statues she kept seeing in the endless hallways and passages were probably magical wards which allowed them to see their group wherever they went.

Hawke made a dismissive gesture. "I want no part of you people."

"Such haste is criminal, my lady," Avicus said calmly. "Come for a moment at least. Only to you would I give up my leadership. Come see my lair with its hundreds of skulls that wronged innocents like you."

How disgusted she was, how much she deplored him and the other man, and all their followers. She could see the intellect in them, the cleverness and the hope behind their devious path. Would that Zevran and Armand were more set to quickly put an end to them and all their kith and kin. But they remained silent, probably because they were struck by fear in waiting for Hawke not to turn on them and join two men they were afraid of.

"Your lair with a hundred skulls?" she asked in amusement. "Don't make me laugh."

"We are creatures of the dark," Avicus said in all simplicity as he tried to approach her. Her blood froze in wondering if this whole charade was all because they indeed knew she was a mage who had a whole additional set of warrior skills they could greatly benefit from and that's why they were exposing such zeal and interest in her instead of downright attacking them. "We must never go into places of light, no matter how much we try and think it is right. The Maker has cursed us to the shadows."

"What Maker?" Hawke asked aggressively. "I go wherever I will. I kill those who are evil and the world belongs to me as much as I live out of it. And you ask me to "come down in the earth" with you? Into a catacomb full of skulls?" she asked in amusement while keeping a firm tone. "You ask me to rule over your fools in the name of what? A demon? You're too clever for your creed, my friend. Forsake it."

"No," Avicus said calmly, shaking his head and stepping backwards. "Mine is of spiritual purity. You can't tempt me from it, not with all your power and your apparent goodness. And I give my welcome to you." She had sparked something in him. They could all see it in his eyes. He was drawn to her, to her words, but he couldn't admit it.

"You'll never be a legion, let alone a spiritually pure one," Hawke said firmly. "The world will never allow it. You're nothing. So why don't you give up your trappings before I fall asleep from this foolish crusade you're pointlessly trying to lure me into?" Avicus drew closer again, as if she were a light and he wanted to be in it. He looked into her eyes, as if he were trying to read her thoughts of which he could get nothing from except those she said in words. Her companions' patience was nearing an end, Armand clenching his fists, Zevran slowly going for his pocket and Fenris for his sheaths.

"We are so gifted," Avicus said calmly, his face drawing a broad smile and his eyes narrowing. "There is so much to be observed, to be learned. Let me take you away from these filthy catacombs and show you how much you could be with my help." He drew even closer and something changed in his face. "You fear your magic." Fenris saw her clench her teeth. "You question yourself every day, if you are a beast or a saint. My thought is, one can be both. I can-" Avicus stopped and swiftly turned his head to her left, as did she, only to see him throwing a searing beam of light into Fenris who tried to silently charge into him. The spell blew right into all three elves and threw them into a wall.

Varric cleared his throat quickly, which she knew meant _Look wherever you haven't looked yet. _She looked above and saw the shadows of a few archers hidden between the gargoyle and raven statues in the walls. "STAY DOWN!" she screamed to the elves as they got up and she drew her swords out while rolling down and backwards from Avicus and the others. They weren't going to kill her first, that was obvious, which meant she could do well to distract them into catching her at least.

It was not a lost cause, so it seemed. Zevran threw a very strong smoke bomb in the enemy group and as he did so, Armand climbed on top of the walls in the fog and gutted every archer hidden up and above that Varric didn't get to shoot. Thank the Maker that Fenris glowed blue in the mist, because she needed to join forces with him and taunt the dozen assassins that were now trying to go after the others as they were issued by Pasquale.

Fenris punched an assassin brutally as he tried to rush over to Armand and Hawke jumped and kicked two of them that were going after Zevran. The two elves escaped in time and hid in the shadows to properly backstab the _backstabbers. _To their fortune, Armand made it his business to kill the mages first and with Varric's help from a distance and Zevran's surprisingly swift moves in stealth he managed to off two of them as he crept up from behind and made them trip.

Hawke tried to find and taunt either Pasquale or Avicus, but she couldn't see them anywhere, which was not a good sign. As Fenris came beside her, they stood back-to-back with their swords out forming barriers. "You know what to do," Hawke said calmly, to which Fenris nodded firmly and turned his markings on again to make any enemy run after him. Some of them bit their bait, and she slit one of the assassins' legs as they tried to chase him, only to get a surprise, but missed backstab from behind. She elbowed the figure and turned around. Of course it "missed", it was Pasquale with a very fine black longsword shimmering in the smoke and darkness. As they bumped swords, she intercepted his attack and turned to her side with her elbow raised, spinning and kicking her elbow into his shoulder. As she did so, she reached behind him and plunged her sword through his shoulder and kicked his back to the ground.

It didn't kill him and her chance to finish it slipped away as she got attacked from behind by two assassins. She turned around and formed a barrier with her swords as the two rogues tried to stab her, one with two sharp stilettos and the other with a longsword. She side-stepped the longsword attack by half-turning as she intercepted the sword with hers and shoved her elbow in the assassin's throat, then she quickly turned around to face the other one who was trying to backstab her. She bumped her sword into his daggers, shoving one away from his hand and grabbing him by the other. She dragged him by the hand lower and slit his throat. When she turned behind, it was too late. The guild master was gone.

Her frustration did not compare to the one Zevran had. He plunged his longsword and his dagger into two separate groups coming from different directions with no mercy as they ricocheted into three bodies on one side and two on the other. Armand remained close to him, even though his eyes were scanning the field for his own private enemy which was nowhere in sight. An assassin came from behind, swinging a broader sword at him and leaving a large part of his body open, and he quickly slit his chest and shoulder, kicking him into another one who was coming from behind the dead man. Fenris turned off his glow as Hawke finished the remaining rogues in sight and silently went for the ranged mages who were hiding behind… the tempest. A lightning storm was forming above their heads. As soon as he saw one dark-robed figure, he turned his glow on from the shadows to surprise it. The mage bent shortly to hit his leg with the sharp end of his staff and as he left his neck open, Fenris rapidly decapitated the mage. His fellow mage threw fireballs at him, which he intercepted with his sword nonchalantly as he slowly approached him. He was backing up recklessly in a corner and was probably low on the mana he kept wasting on him, so he tried to defend himself from Fenris's sword with his staff. As the mage intercepted Fenris's fake open attack, he raised the pommel of his sword that bumped into the staff, with the other end going down and cleaving through the man's chest.

The smoke persisted in this part of the room, as well as the tempest above their heads which now was clearly coming from somewhere else. Avicus needed to be stopped, because he was throwing spirit damage in-between this great display of primal channelling. Hawke got surprise-attacked again by Pasquale with his two-handed techniques. It was time to let the other sword go and do the same. As he rushed to thrust his sword at her, she intercepted it with her sword, and she noticed he didn't apply pressure to the outside. Instead, Pasquale tried to displace the thrust to the left and moved in to interrupt her follow-up attacks. With his sword on top of hers, now applying pressure, Hawke responded with swiftly stepping in and redirecting Pasquale's blade to his right. Now it seemed more and more like he was giving her chances to prove her might. As she powerfully redirected his blade to his right, Pasquale's inertia made him bend forward with his sword, to which she slammed her arms in-between his and immobilized his sword. Thank the Maker that Pasquale tried to grab her main hand to trap her sword, rather than proceeding with an attack, because his sword was right under her torso. She took the advantage to execute an elbow strike to his throat, then she shoved him with might and threw him over his left leg as he fell down. By doing so, she continued to trap his arm, which wrenched the sword out of her hands. In that moment, she was sure it was Fenris who dragged her away forcefully by the coat and picked up her sword. They ran into the smoke and got right beside the central pillar with the most phylacteries, where it turned out, Avicus was channelling his spells.

She clenched her teeth and reach out for him as Fenris did the same. With a swiftness that surprised them, he escaped their attack. For some reason, she knew exactly where he would go, so she ran after him and caught him, spinning him around after she threw a direct downward shot to his shoulder. She dragged him back to the pillar and had her sword shoved into his robe so he wouldn't escape. She looked at the phylacteries and closed her eyes, then in a swift motion opened her palms and used a massive forcewave to make the ground shake. She touched the pillars and they started to collapse, along with the blood vials that in vast numbers began to break.

"Never come near me again, do you hear?" she screamed at him. Avicus struggled against her immobilizing sword. "I can kill you by fire or by this sword if I so choose it," she shouted. "And why don't I choose it? Why don't I choose to slaughter you all miserable vermin? Why don't I do it? Because I loathe the violence of it and the cruelty, even though you're more evil than the other people I simply killed not a minute ago."

He was frantic under her grip, but of course, he couldn't have the slightest chance to do more, at least for a few seconds. She wished now, in her crazed state, that someone would come back to her spot and finish him off, as well as Pasquale. The blood from the vials poured into a cascade around them, on their clothes, on the ground, shards falling everywhere. Was her mind too attuned or distracted that she wouldn't let herself dragged into this abysmal filth?

His face glared at her with hatred in his smile, "You are perfect. And I curse you." She was taken aback by his contradiction and defiance.

"I warn you to stay away from me," Hawke shouted again. "Curse your god and your excuses, curse everything that you stand for. But whatever you do, stay clear of me for your own sake." He was planted there, looking up in awe as well as fury at her. She brought up the flames in her hands, channelling another forcewave to further animate the fire, and she quelled it with might and sent it down towards him. She willed it to kindle only to the edge of his black monkish robes. At once the cloth around his feet began to smoke and he crawled back in horror. He turned round and round in panic and tore the scorched pieces of robe off himself and trying with the other hand to shoot spirit damage at her without much success. Was he pretending? Once again he looked at her, fearless as before, but enraged in his helplessness. "Know what I could do to you," Hawke said aggressively, "and never come near me-"

Something like a harsh blow came from behind, mighty and painful, deeply dissipating her consciousness. It wasn't a blade, though it might as well have been that too in addition to what hit her, for she wouldn't have felt it further. She felt the blood magic in the last seconds, before the dark crept in, and she felt herself fall to her knees, her heart turning into a thousand tiny searing blades, attacking itself from inside out.


	15. I See Chronos (Beyond, A Helping Hand)

**This chapter is all Hawke and Fenris, next one almost too. If you're not all that interested in what happens with this invented quest, skip to Chapter 36. That's when Hawke remembers everything and goes back to the inn to Fenris and all "hell" breaks loose.**

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><p><em>Think of me wherever you are, when it seems like you're reaching the end<em>

_Call on me, know in your heart, on one who will always defend, I am thy friend._

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><p>The excruciating pain, that harsh blow that imploded inside out of her, as if those millions of falling shards from the phylacteries had all amassed to crush her defenseless heart, it brought her on the verge of tasting what was beyond death, what was <em>worse<em> than death. The crumbling image of the catacombs simply went deaf and the motion of time and action continued, but seemed perfectly pointless. Like life was continuing outside of time and purpose and the world was simply not there, but full of it. Now finding herself again in the heart of cruelty, she knew the particulars of rape, the stinking grease, the squabbling, the curses over the ruin of the lamb. She felt a hideous unsupportable powerlessness. The one that the elves had also come to know and hate, but drink it further as if they were utterly blind at the sight of poison. Loathsome men, men against the gods and against nature. Whatever the cost, if this was death, she would accept it if it meant they were safe. It was her responsibility, it was her idea. She owed it to Dorian for Armand to be safe, she wanted to better the wrongs he had lived through, she wanted Varric to come out of it alive, the one who eagerly remained at her side with no questions asked. Lastly, she would have gone with this mage if it meant not taking…

The last thing she felt was Malcolm's presence, like a summoned wisp from the beyond, cradling her from the collapse, making her numb and fully senseless, when the darkness had descended upon her. She heard something simple she knew all too well was his words, although she couldn't actually hear his _voice. _But the presence said "Fight. Fight!" No matter what, just fight. She couldn't feel her body, she was already falling. But she'd be damned, _damned to dreaded bits of the Void, _if she wouldn't…

She couldn't hear herself bravely shouting _Eat shit _to Avicus. She didn't feel the massive beam of radiant violet she let out with the last poor remains of her magic before collapsing to the ground. The wave elapsed in beams out of each finger and charged with massive force into the mage, and that was it. Quick thinking, but utterly damning, for this was the death of her. She didn't feel it when something intercepted her fall, but she didn't feel the Fade either. It did not hurt her then. It did not shake her. She was too pale of soul, too numbed, too used to seeing all things as figments in a series of unconnected dreams. Very likely, she could not allow herself to believe such a thing.

Yet perhaps this was what it meant – dying. Pitch-black, utter darkness. You hit the bucket and that was it. With so many regrets encaged in the mountain of your despair, that it was more than enough to awaken the magma of remorse, of things that hadn't been said and that will now never be, all from underneath. Turn the sleeping vessel in a volcano. That was it. A dormant volcano, suddenly awakened in the last moments of breath, nearing the eruption only to meet a large lid covering its opening… And so it implodes and destroys itself from inside out, because the days you saved to release your despair and make peace with this underground ocean of sadness and happiness, joy and regret, wandering sighs and forgotten smiles, faint little love... they have no more time to be let out. Brutal hunger, time has, my volcano now learns. Can you hear me cry out to you? Words I thought I'd only joke and figure out later. Come see this, Father, just look at me, everyone - you've got front row seats to the penitence ball! Scenes over scenes now seem so unkind. I can't defend. Maybe I don't like it, but I have no choice. Maybe there's a reason things don't go my way, a lesson that I didn't get to learn in life but I will in death. Just like the change of seasons, it is my turn.

Once, a long time ago, I thought that I knew everything, that I could fight and defend, the fire burning on and on, 'til all is gone except my own little flame that always kept me on. To be the white knight gleaming with hope when others have none, even if all the answers disagreed with the questions held for me. And behold, my resignation is late even now in death!

And then, then there was no time.

Time chasing time… It's taken mine.

_Tick, tock. Can't let time win, _her soul heard. She felt something glowing alight, perhaps it was the wisp exploding and taking her beyond the realms that men knew, perhaps it was simply Death laughing joyfully. Only that it felt like a thousand bright lights casting a shadow, a loop in the whirlwind, - _maybe it really is Father -_ that stopped her fall and feel her heart beating again, but as if it was punching the walls slowly with all its might. Tick, tock… tick, tock… Can't let time win.

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><p>It was filth again, the smell of hemp, the rustling of the rats on the cold hard floors. It didn't occur to her at all just how much lack of perception she had, for her eyes had been open for some time just roaming the walls without actually understanding anything from the scenery. Time to laugh again, but she was too sick. She was emptied out of magic and the daze of this emptiness inside her was more crushing than the actual blow she took to the heart. A prison inside a prison. Wait, was she even rambling about? This <em>was <em>a prison, wasn't it? That's why the word streamed into consciousness in placid metaphors.

_Creator noster, qui es in caelis_

"Maker's bloody testicles," she said, words propelled out in empty space, without being heard in her impaired consciousness.

_Sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum_

"Father?" she said again, but couldn't hear herself.

_Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra_

She was losing perception with every second, only feeling the pressure in her forehead and the daze from the absence of all human strength and magic. She didn't understand who she was, where she was, what those words were. Only that they kept being uttered.

A torch blazed in front of her, but the light from the flame was shooting in severed beams at her face, that much she understood. Fire by fire, it scorched her mind and unsettled her soul, but brought her closer to the realm of conscious thought. She tilted her head on the ground and saw the iron bars.

_Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie_

No... this was a _familiar _voice that kept muttering a familiar language. Once again, she retreated into her deepest mental hiding place. She had no body anymore. She lay on the cold ground, unfeeling of her body. She put her mind at work on the tone of this voice near her, such sweet and faint voice.

And so on it went, the eternal incomprehensible uttering, the voice gradually becoming weak in the silence.

_Et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris_

She did not give responses.

She spoke no words to him. She did not even let him know she was there. She couldn't even explain this terrible fate which had befallen them, but more because she was simply out of this world. She wanted her father to simply shut up. They had enough time in the prison of the Void to argue over untimely tragedies and unforgivable regrets.

Yet on he went, now that is charges mercifully slept, muttering alone to comfort himself, or perhaps merely to remind himself he was still existing, "Et ne nos iuducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo."

_Fenris._ She had slipped into a shock near despair, as she realized this was his voice. She let her mind recover the sight of blowing the spirit wave on Avicus, the sight of people burning. She recovered the image of Fenris going in front of her. Fenris, a living blue-glowing torch, turning and twisting in the fire, his growls of pain like animal roars and his arms reaching heavenward like spiders in the bloody flame coming at them. And the invisible wisp protecting her from falling, like a comforting specter. Whatever this impression of her father did from the beyond, Fenris did in the physical world.

She rose up, panic-stricken and going haywires while tumbling over the iron bars in hot and cold palpitations. "Fenris?" she called out his name in desperation.

The voice was no more. Time to laugh again at herself for hearing ghosts after death, but she was still too sick to taste the irony. Instead, she felt like crying. She was going to burn in the Void. This was the Void.

But then the voice came again from her right, deep and stricken with anguish, "Hawke, you're- … I thought you-"

"I'm fine," she said as quick as thunder. "Although I thought I died and ended up in the Void. Heart crushing and head blowing up, then pitch-black, only to wake up in terrible smells and filthy spaces. There were simply not enough reasonable guesse- _AH_

The adrenaline rush expired on her legs and she fell down while still holding at the bars.

"Hawke!" she heard Fenris shout abruptly. "What's happening?"

"_Nuh-_nothing, I-" she stuttered and growled in pain as she half-rose from her back. "Empty reserves, that's all."

"You were out for a long time." A flash of bangs and voices came to her, from when she probably awoke for a few seconds. She heard someone throwing someone else in, then the door had slammed shut with a deafening crash; she initially felt relief that nothing violent happened afterwards, but once the captors were gone, that relief evaporated; now it grew rampant and powerfully magnified.

"You didn't come at the same time with me," she said finally. She dragged herself to sit on the floor with her back against the wall that was separating their two cells. "What happened? Where are … are they…"

Fenris hesitated with his answer. He got distracted with battling assassins and remarkably distanced himself from Hawke and Avicus when he saw him cast the red and black fumes around her body. He rushed up in front of her after she had apparently cast a violet light that fried the mage and threw him into a wall. What followed he didn't remember. He only knew that when he awoke, they were in a different hallway, and there were only Zevran and Varric there to fill him in on the details. Hawke and Armand were taken by the two masters after Avicus had cast a barrier and ran with Pasquale and their unconscious companions through the hidden passage they came from.

Varric was panic-stricken, something one could never notice unless they chose to look at the faint trembling in his legs. He contained his emotions and listened to Zevran as he explained the plan he had just then cooked up to save them. They had to cheat their way to the prison by taking the long road, double upon their route through the spiral they initially avoided a few hours before.

They reached the edge of a hallway that was stripped of stairs, the floor far below harboring their collapse. Zevran took out a grapple and tangled it into a pillar, issuing Varric to hold on to him as they went down, then Fenris would have his turn and go down all by himself. Whence they reached the floor below, Zevran shouted at him to come down. He had his foot right on the edge, looking down at them, and he couldn't bring himself to motion. A sudden rush came over him and paralyzed him beyond repair. He felt his face draw a haunted scowl and he pressed his lips tight, before turning around and running in the opposite direction as fast as he could. What followed after was simple – and foolish. He roamed the old passages alone, driven by a force so great and fierce, he himself did not have the stomach to question. Eventually he got ambushed and captured.

"Varric and Zevran were safe when I left them. Armand on the other hand was captured at the same time with you," he finally uttered unemotionally, because there was too much emotion that he simply had to contain.

"When you left them?" she asked bewilderedly. "Why in blazes would you leave them?"

Fenris didn't answer for a while, seeming as if he was gathering his thoughts. "We had to find another way into the prison, so I thought it best if we split."

"How much smoke did you inhale that it made you 'think' it was _best _to leave your group and wonder alone in an ancient catacomb nesting assassins and blood mages?" Hawke almost shouted angrily.

"It doesn't matter any longer," Fenris muttered, sitting with his back against the wall without knowing she was just beyond the stone wall doing the same thing.

Hawke would have slapped him if he were in the same cell as she was, but since his luck seemed to _finally _spark with the current geography, she changed the subject. "Do you know where Armand is?"

"No. But no doubt he is near," Fenris replied calmly. "The mage values him and will not let him go again."

She swallowed heavily and thought it would be best to shift his focus away from the resemblance of his and Armand's situations. This was his deepest fear coming alive for someone else, under his own eyes. And they couldn't afford to be unsettled now. "We will find them. And when we do, do not doubt that I will make them beg for death."

He didn't answer at first, and she imagined he was shaking his head or rolling his eyes at her brave, but ultimately foolish remarks. They were more than doomed at the moment. "I'll take your word on that," he finally said.

After a few moments of silence, he was the one to say something again. "I wonder if Danarius keeps a phylactery of my blood that he uses to track me down."

"Even if he does, it wouldn't be of much use to him," Hawke said quickly. "It only glows when the person is near, as in… in a roughly hundred mile radius. Even here, there's no chance he'd find you. As for Zevran and Armand, well… it's obvious why we had company in the catacombs."

"Then it is good that I ran so far away," he said calmly. Really, really good, indeed.

She wanted so desperately bad to divert his attention, but she couldn't bring herself to rise to her feet and attempt to get them out.

* * *

><p>Still bound in the cell, while Hawke was out, Fenris listened to a hollow preternatural voice from far away in the prison chanting with a villainous gusto the awful hymn, Dies Irae, or Day of Wrath. A low drum carried on the zesty rhythm, as if it were a song for dancing rather than a terrible lament of the Final Days. On and on went the Tevinter words speaking of the day when all the world would be turned to ashes, when the great trumpets of the Maker would blast to signal the opening of all graves and the Old Gods themselves would perish. Death itself and nature would both shudder. All souls would be brought together, no soul able anymore to hide anything from the Maker. Out of His book, every sin would be read aloud. Vengeance would fall upon everyone. Who was there to defend them, but the Judge Himself, their majestic god. Their only hope was the pity of this God, the God who had suffered just as much because of them as they soon will at his behest. As if he had made a sacrifice all this time, and it wouldn't go to waste.<p>

Yes, beautiful old words, but they issued from an evil mouth, the mouth of one who did not even know their meaning, who uttered regally along the tapping drum as if ready for a feast.

He would have fallen apart in anguish if not for having heard Hawke's peaceful breathing from the other cell that let him know she was still alive. Her breathing was a much more soothing chant that powerfully drowned the dreaded little voice singing on to its spirited little drum.

He knew it was not her fault. Even if, if not for her, he probably wouldn't have gone into this mess. Although he was probably lying to himself, because he would not turn his back on a person who went through the same thing and had a chance at total freedom. What was foolish was to make whatever became of Armand as a condition to his own fate. If he would not get out alive from this, what hope would he have to be free and lead a normal life? It was foolish, and he would not allow himself to sink his thoughts deeper into it. He didn't have to work on that very hard, because there was another equally powerful, if not bigger issue haunting him and that was Hawke's safety, though he would never admit it. This too was a much too tantalizing thought to brood over in such times, because he was now more than ever proving to himself just how far he would go for another being… and that he had found a purpose and a reason worthy enough to be ready to die for.

_Only I heard the rustling, impish laughter everywhere. Only I know how many preternatural monsters are lurking bout us, as we were brought into this light of a monstrous fire, entombed in the prison._

* * *

><p>He was touched by her bravery, and he pulled his thoughts together. He must stop shrinking in horror from his last memories and he must imagine them living, getting out of this dreaded place and going back home. <em>Home? <em>

His thoughts were smitten away from a sudden question coming from the other cell. "What was that, what you kept saying to yourself?"

"What was I… saying to myself?" Fenris repeated her question because he didn't understand it. "Oh… that," he uttered faintly, as if he appeared to be embarrassed. "I was… praying."

He expected a long pause from her, but she rapidly asked, "What were you praying for?"

"Is it important?" Fenris asked calmly, issuing away with defenses.

"I wouldn't know unless you told me first," Hawke replied suavely. "Well?"

"It was just a Tevinter prayer," Fenris pressed, averting any insight on his troubled mind. "I did not really know what I was praying for."

"Well, how did the prayer go?" Hawke insisted in a soothing tone.

Fenris inhaled defensively and pressed his lips, but finally gave in. "Our Maker, that resides in the skies, hallowed by Thy Name, Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is beyond. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil."

"I really didn't see you as the praying for deliverance after being captured type," Hawke mused lightly.

"That's because I'm not," Fenris muttered sharply.

"Maybe that's because you don't get captured easily," Hawke said with a faint smile.

"And yet here I am," Fenris replied sorrowfully. "My luck has apparently expired."

She would have said _Oh come on you pessimistic idiot, of course we'll get out of here, _but a pain in her lungs made her cough out heavily and she had to pull herself together. She had to find the strength to rise from the ground and proceed with their escape…however impossible it seemed at the moment.

"Are you alright?" Fenris asked a bit sharply, perhaps containing his concern and impatience. "Hawke."

"I told you I'm fine, Fenris," Hawke said assertively, feeling the fever on her forehead and pressing her eyes shut. "Empty reserves, that's all, like I said."

"And what does that mean exactly?" Fenris pressed with obvious discomfort in his voice.

"It means I'll be alright soon enough and you needn't concern yourself," Hawke uttered confidently.

"Don't lie to me," Fenris muttered harshly. "I saw what that mage did to you. I saw you casting all those spells. You should be-"

"Dead?" Hawke interrupted him. "And I'm not. So, this is old news."

"Vishante kaffas." He should have been more vigilant; more –

"Praying and now going back to cursing. You're the perfect Andrastian, aren't you?" Hawke mused sarcastically.

"You need lyrium, don't you?" he pressed. "Otherwise you're bound to lose your mind again, am I wrong?"

"If that were the case, I should be going insane lunatic right now, but as you can see, I'm only the good old part-lunatic part-insane Hawke. And even so, I don't have any pots."

He hesitated with his answer, but it didn't matter now either way. "… Ihad one. The bastard took it away."

"You took a lyrium potion with you?" Hawke asked in confusion. "For me?"

"It matters little now," Fenris said. "Next time, take your own. Else I'm going to personally make sure you don't see the light of day."

Hawke snorted in amusement. "Wow. You're cute when you go all commanding mad protector on me."

"Oh? Well I am about to get utterly _adorable _soon," Fenris replied in an all-serious grumpy tone.

"If Zevran were here, he'd probably say _An invitation! Succes!_" Hawke mused back.

"Or take remark of the opportunity to fulfill some perverted prison fantasy," Fenris replied with discomfort in his tone.

Hawke chuckled at his words and arched away an eyebrow. "What are you wearing?"

"What am I … wearing?" Fenris asked in confusion. "They did not take away my clothes. I'm still-"

"No, not like that," Hawke said in amusement, but decided to give up. "Nevermind."

"And here I thought only the pirate tried to guess away the color of my underclothes," Fenris muttered back waspishly.

Hawke gasped childishly. "So you _were _playing dumb. Bah, this act of innocence is getting stale, Fenris, you know that?"

"I do," Fenris said without fault, drawing up a faint smile. "But it's fairly entertaining _for me_; to make you all think I'm innocent."

She snorted. "Yeah, 'cause you're a real heartbreaker on the inside, I'm sure," Hawke said sarcastically.

"I said no such thing," Fenris mused calmly. "I might understand some dirty code, but I am no," he paused to roll his eyes, as if she would even see that, "Adonis."

Hawke felt the annoyance in his tone as he said the last word, beyond the appearance of mocking. "Yeah, I saw just how much you made out of his _dirty code._ You really don't like the guy, do you?"

Fenris pressed his lips in annoyance. "I don't –_anything- _him. What would be the point?"

Hawke laughed. "Well, he _is _a rather important figure; if not for the fact that he's the _Warden_'s husband, then for the simple reality that he is fairly conditional to our escape."

"Yes, and he made it quite clear that he was married from all the advances he made on you," Fenris uttered in disgust rather quickly, followed by a pause to realize how easy it was every time he talked to her after a while, just how easy it came to be that he would express himself without care for feeling stripped.

Hawke smirked joyfully. "You know he was doing that only to avert our attention from his true identity, right? And you bit his bait quite fast, Sir." He didn't answer, so she thought this was a good topic to avert attention from the restlessness of being imprisoned. She shook her head and grinned shortly. "Who would have thought you were the jealous type?"

"There was no jealousy," Fenris pressed in annoyance, gritting his teeth and clenching his grip on his knees. She didn't say anything, giving him only silence so he knew he didn't have to see her to know her eyebrow was already reaching for the heavens from that bold-faced lie. "Fine… maybe I was a bit," he rolled his eyes as he paused, "jealous."

"First step is admitting it," Hawke mused joyfully.

One corner of his lips tensed in annoyance as he frowned. After a few moments of silence, his faint voice reached her ear. "Does it… bother you?"

"No, of course not," Hawke said firmly. "In fact-" she paused and Fenris raised an eyebrow as he waited for her to continue. "Well there's no real way to say this without sounding evil, but, I did kind of… enjoy it."

"You enjoyed it?" he asked in confusion.

"Not your distress, just…" She rolled her eyes and laughed softly to herself. "Well, it felt nice to know you would be set off by the chance of –"

"I understand," Fenris interrupted her.

"Sorry," Hawke said with a crooked smile, even if he couldn't see her.

"Apology not accepted," Fenris said in amusement, but keeping his sharp tone.

"Excuse me?" Hawke asked in amusing outrage. "Did I hurt your feelings or something?"

"It doesn't matter. What matters now is that you owe it to me to make up for your… " he grinned deviously, "impertinence."

Hawke's eyebrow really could have reached the seventh level of heaven by now. "My impertinence?"

"For not telling your pursuer to back off and as it followed, making me continue in my jealous ways," Fenris pretended innocently.

"Oh, bugger off. I know Armand told you he was married and it was all a big joke." He didn't answer, perhaps to gather up his thoughts and track down whatever memory that slipped when Armand used the common tongue to tell him that. She explained, "Yes, I heard _married _and _joke_. I also heard _horse_ and _death_, but regardless, I didn't need much to make up the general idea. And you didn't tell me afterwards, making _me _continue to work my ass off in trying to unmask the bastard." She grinned shortly. "We are _even_."

Fenris exhaled and smirked as if he were proud to admit defeat. "Touché."

"And even so, what am I to you that I should tell a pursuer to back off?" Hawke pressed deviously.

How utterly annoying she could be sometimes, pressing his buttons in the most inappropriate of times. Even so, it was shamefully thrilling to admit he was intrigued by her resistance and cocksure attitude. "That solely depends on you, Hawke," he said nonchalantly.

"I strongly disagree," she replied confidently. "It's up to you more than you think."

"No more riddles, please," Fenris pressed grumpily.

"Shit," she shouted suddenly. "Ah, Maker's tittie-fucking breath, Andraste, Hessarrian, Shartan and the fucking donkey sitting behind!" She stroke a fever and really needed something to get her strength back, because her stomach was twirling and her veins were thickening in pain.

"Venhedis. What is happening with you? Tell me," Fenris shouted in anger, having lost his patience.

Hawke growled in annoyance. "I'm a warrior who happens to also be a mage in massive withdrawal; what do you think is happening?"

He hated himself that he couldn't do anything for her. Converting his fear into anger was all he knew in these situations.

"This is exactly why I hate that man so viciously bad," Hawke finally muttered, the pain still resounding from her tone. "Maker I would kill him."

"Why didn't you?" Fenris asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Back there, you had him. But you kept shouting at him and broke the phylacteries instead of going for the kill."

A long pause from her part, followed by a deep sigh. "I don't know. My mind was playing tricks on me." She thought of how much she did want to kill him. "I wanted to scare him, really scare him. I knew that I couldn't kill him alone, but I could at least keep his focus on me instead of shifting it to…"

"To what in blazes would he have shifted his attention to? He was drawn to you from the very beginning," Fenris said angrily, cruel distress in his tone as he finished.

Hawke closed her eyes shut and sighed. "To you."

"Me?"

"You didn't hide your special abilities. They would have went after you if I hadn't led them on with my own confident speeches. They were looking for whoever would be most useful to them. As you see, they didn't kill me. They brought me _here._" She sighed again in annoyance and muttered sharply, "And you followed, like an idiot."

Stupid woman. "Why would you do that?"

"I have already answered that. So they wouldn't go after you," she pressed firmly.

He lost it, beyond a doubt. He shouted at her, "So the best strategy is to offer _yourself _on a plate?"

"I didn't offer myself on a plate, I simply used their already existing interest in me to my advantage. You didn't see me surrender willingly now, did you?"

"Still," Fenris said and paused. "It was foolish."

Hawke pressed her lips in annoyance. "What was more foolish is you going in alone to find me and letting yourself get captured. You made all my efforts to ensure your safety go straight in the garbage."

"Right, forgive my honest attempts to ultimately do the same thing. I shall endeavor not to give a damn in the future," Fenris said angrily.

"Good," Hawke said firmly, to his surprise. "Then it's settled."

"Whatever makes you happy," Fenris muttered sarcastically.

"Oh, don't give me that," Hawke said in annoyance. "I'm not your blighted master."

Fenris frowned deeply. "Why in the Void would you think-"

"Because I'm a mage, Fenris. That hasn't changed and it never will."

He shook his head in amazement. "The redundancy of your statement is undeniable. I simply can't see your point."

"Well, how much time before you blame me for whatever is going to happen to us if this ends badly, hm?

"The decisions were my own, Hawke. Don't stretch your paranoia to such outrageous extents." He sighed when she kept silent, so he pressed with honesty, "You know I'm sane enough to understand the difference between youand the man who put us in here."

She exhaled in a small fit of sorrow. "Yes, and say… if the Templars one day come to my doorstep and take me away – not _kill _me, just take me away… what would you do?"

His sudden silence was enough. She sighed. "Well, points for honesty."

This impossible woman and her trapping questions.

She was herself again, hideously wounded, a botched reassemblage of the strong angelic child she'd been before his attempts to bring out the woman in her, when she was locked out in the brutal morning to meet her death with a clear mind. The recent event with the blood mage brought to light the awful unhealed evidence that she was always going to be a mage, a blasphemous creation of nature, perhaps, as it turned her to a monument in ash – because she would always be susceptible to the transformation he kept condemning at mages. She only needed a noble reason to do it, though she might not dare to admit it. And if she would ever come to be what he expected of other mages - only not _her_ if she would only allow him to further prove that statement - she would be no less than ready to be burned down at the stake or smitten by his very sword.

And even so, perhaps she would fear he would be too dried up of his own free will not to follow her through hell as if she was a twisted reflection of his master. Perhaps that drained her of her own will to truly allow him in, despite her full acceptance of him as a being and eternal friend. Rather like a beautiful rose skillfully dehydrated in sand by its own will, so that it retains its proportions, nay, even its fragrance and even its tint, perishing, but not truly dying. For all the good she did and the people she saved, she was perhaps becoming dry, heartless, a stranger to herself. It seemed as if they were racing together for who gives in to emptiness first. He was no stranger to being utterly alone and unaccepting of oneself. He had no doubt that he could turn into a beast again. Understanding all too well the limits of her warped spirit, it probably would not be long before she dismissed him and he would have to swallow this illusion of a happy life and move on.

Even so, what did he have to tell this honest good woman, Hawke, this all too self-loathing version of the stronger and brasher Malcolm Hawke, he could only presume, except that in the world she would come to find enough good to sustain her, and that in her soul she must find the courage to exist as she was regardless of what she was born with. He could make no judgement. If indeed, it was her choice even now to go on living and fighting for whatever she believed in, did he really need to remind her of that? Without of course, looking to images of heroes such as the Warden and villains such as Avicus to give her an artificial or short-lived peace, because she was called upon by fate to restore balance in her own way. Her outside actions were quite clear in their intent, but inside, she was a mess. One other horrible inescapable and unforgettable ingredient went into the core of the issue.

That it seemed obvious, now more than ever, that there was not only the great stone wall they were both resting their backs on, that was separating them in their own private cages – and that there was more than just two physical cages that entrapped them in their helplessness and dictating their tale.

Now he wished more than ever that the perverted blonde elf would swoop in to save them and gloat at how ridiculously awesome he was compared to their idiocy for getting themselves caught. Ah, but what did it matter? It didn't seem that they were going to show up and save the day; their end was nearing and inevitable. It did not matter anymore.

"Remember when Varric was set out to take his revenge and gave you those insane punishments?" Fenris asked calmly. "Specifically, when he made you guess the ingredients of his new drink."

"Yes, I blacked out and woke up in his bed with you sleeping the night face-down on the table," Hawke remembered in amusement.

"Remember when you climbed one the roof and put a hand over my mouth the moment Varric and the abomination came out looking for you?"

It seemed too far away in time to recall an already blind memory. "Vaguely."

Fenris sighed and continued, "I restrained you, because you kept muttering in your half dazed state that they were going to take you. That they were coming after you and you were afraid."

"Is this story going anywhere?" Hawke asked defensively, because she didn't care to recall moments when she wasn't in control of her vulnerabilities.

"Patience, woman," Fenris said sharply and smirked.

She looked to her right at the iron bars. "Yeah, we've got time."

"I could only assume you were talking about the Templars; that they were coming to take you," Fenris continued calmly. "Well imagine me, holding you in that deeply fearful state," he described and gestured as he did so despite her not being able to see, "placing my head over yours and telling you that nobody was going to take you."

"Nice dream," Hawke said defensively. "That was not what you said."

"And how would you know?" Fenris asked angrily. "Am I supposed to believe you suddenly remember what happened?"

"I don't remember one bit, but I can bet you my house that you didn't say that. Not truthfully, to be exact," Hawke said firmly. She couldn't grasp it, couldn't believe in it, couldn't rouse her dulled heart to triumph in what his voice had told her in rupturing calmness to be true.

"Then behold, I am the proud new owner of the famous Amell Estate. I will want my keys once we get back to Kirkwall, especially the ones for the hidden cellar up to Darktown, to be more exact," he said mockingly.

"Will you at least keep my Mother in there? She makes excellent pie," Hawke said childishly.

Fenris laughed. "I would never kick that woman out. She does make excellent pie." He kept his smirk and forgot what they were fighting about not a minute ago. "You on the other hand…"

"No worries. I'll take over your mansion and finally give it a proper make over now that you'll be too busy raiding my cellar for cheaper wine," Hawke said in annoyance. "Oh, I can't wait."

"At least that's something to hope for," Fenris said calmly, then turned his head to the iron bars. "Are you feeling better?"

"Now that I get my wish to restore your wreck of a house, yep. Pretty dandy," Hawke said childishly.

"I meant your health, not your morale," Fenris pressed in annoyance. "And don't lie to me."

"I'm in pain and I'm feverish. Just another Tuesday, really," Hawke replied confidently.

"Can you stand up?"

She sighed and thought it was worth a shot. What more could she lose? A leg? Improbable. "Gimme a sec." She got a hold of the bars and focused her weight on her right leg; after a while of grunting and grumbling in frustration, she finally rose straight up. "Lieutenant Hawke reporting for duty. It appears I am fit to stand… and remain a statue in the process."

"Hawke," she heard him say in annoyance.

She looked to her right to see that Fenris had his hand out in-between the bars and reaching for her own. More than that she couldn't see. She contained her smile and stuck out her own hand to let him catch it; he held it firmly without uttering another word. They weren't necessary, he would say. And what a wonder it was that all they had done and allowed each other up until then should seem but a thing they truly shared, a common and inevitable catastrophe, but all in good intentions and a sort of honest understanding, now magnified by the lament of what seemed as the end of them. Letting the moments just pass away, she entrusted her hand to him and felt the refreshing coldness of his hand against her feverish one, tangled up into one another as strongly as they could.


	16. Guardians For The Greater Good

His hand was not only colder, but it was _stronger. _No, not in the physical sense, although that was also true. As sturdy and robust as her trained hand was, it was still had the petite womanly, more fragile form in his much larger, muscular one. But this was not about strength, as much as it was about … some kind of curious magnification. It was vehement and motioning, though she did nothing. "Fenris," she said in amazement, inhaling quickly as her eyes widened. She felt it and she saw his markings glowing blue. The searing energy; it had a will of its own and she was absorbing it. "Are you doing this?"

"No, but I can feel it," Fenris said with distress in his tone. "What is it?"

"I think," she paused and let the energy flow rapidly in her veins. "I think your markings are giving me strength."

Fenris frowned in confusion. "But I'm not a mage; I can't heal you."

"You're not healing, you're…" she frowned and examined the feeling, "…giving me your energy. The lyrium gives you the power and you don't need to be a mage; I need to be one," she said with her tone heightening by the second, almost about to smile, "But we're both doing this."

He shook his head hesitantly. "I don't understand. I'm _giving_ you the lyrium?"

"No, it is already burned in your skin, it can't be taken out." She arched her eyebrow and continued, "The matter is what _it is doing. _It amplifies my magic."

He remembered how she explained to him in the Deep Roads that the markings did half the job in healing him, because she was deeply inexperienced and there was no way she could have directed the spell with such precision. "So it works both ways?" Fenris asked in amazement. "I can enhance your regeneration?"

"If you're good-intentioned; if you allow it. Yes, I think you can," Hawke said quickly and started to smile with all her teeth. "This is amazing. I feel it everywhere."

"Good," Fenris said sharply. "You will save a lot of coin on potions then."

"No!" she shouted quickly. "This is a nice trick, but it's not without consequence. Don't you feel a little light-headed?"

"I… don't know. I was already weak."

She sought to take her hand away in an instant, but he caught it insistently and wouldn't let go. "Take it, Hawke. It matters little now if it gives me a bit of haze."

"…Fine," she muttered in annoyance. She let the pressure in her heart go and focused on the energy from his withered calloused palm, though much focus wasn't necessary. It was as if the energy had a mind of its own, offering permissions with no speck of conscious thought. "You really are a double-edged sword."

She heard Fenris chuckle from the other side, "Will wonders-"

"Never cease," Hawke finished joyfully. A little joke came back to her. "An iron fist quietly sits inside the velvet glove."

"Isn't it the other way around?" She didn't answer. "Hawke?... Hawke!"

She was pressing her eyes tightly shut and groaned, "Let go."

"Why?" Fenris asked urgently. His hand was numb. He couldn't bring motion to it. "I can't."

"Fenris, let go," she repeated commandingly. "Damn it," she shouted and tried to get out of his firm grip. His fingers twitched and loosened their hold, letting her get the hand out.

"What was that?" he asked in alarm. "I went numb."

"You were already weak, like you said," Hawke said in-between panting. "Better not move up the career ladder to royally dead."

"Yes, I am quite content with being royal only if it is followed by," he said and paused to clear his throat, "pain in the ass". After a moment of silence, he sought to press, "How do you feel now?"

"Who cares? You're the one in trouble now. How is your head?" she asked in worry.

"I'm perfectly fine," Fenris almost lied. "What n-"

A large boom came about from her cell, shaking up the ground, making Fenris fall and blasting dust everywhere as a roaring wave refracted through everything. What followed was an awkward silence, before hearing Hawke's grumpy childish voice eventually going, "…Crap."

"You do realize if these bars hadn't been magically sealed I would have gotten us out by now," Fenris said grumpily as he rose from the ground.

"It didn't hurt to try," Hawke shouted back. "Well… so I made a hole in the ground. It's not like I… _oh_."

"Oh," Fenris repeated ironically.

"I'm sure no one heard us," Hawke said optimistically. "They're probably too busy trying to brainwash Armand."

"And somehow I find myself actually seeing that as something to hope for," Fenris said waspishly. He shook his head and sighed. "Please don't do that again." But the ground shook again with a boom and he fell to the ground again. "Venhedis. Are you trying to get us killed?" No answer. Of course she had to play childish now, as if that would lift up his spirits.

Why? Just why? With all the irrevocably _crazy _that had been surrounding them for years, it wasn't at all inconceivable now that his markings made her go insane. Perhaps that prayer was necessary. Perhaps he hadn't prayed enough. Just when he managed to get up, the floor collapsed beneath him in an almost precise circle. He held on to the edge as he remained suspended in the air. As he looked down, Hawke was standing with a wide and cocky smile in an empty spacious place below. "You were saying?"

"Kaffas," he cursed angrily.

"You can let go anytime now," she said in amusement.

He growled in annoyance and let himself fall. As he prepared to land on his feet, she caught him in her arms and gave him an arrogant smirk. "Abracadabra," she said mockingly and dropped him nonchalantly like a corpse.

Good thinking, taking revenge for her own amusement at such a time. He eyed her murderously as he rose from the ground. "You couldn't wait to get a chance to do that."

"Nope," Hawke said childishly.

"You realize you are like a child, I hope," Fenris growled disapprovingly.

She chuckled as she grazed the dust off her coat, "Well good thing I have daddy here to scold me."

"Don't tell me you're going crazy and seeing the ghost of your father in me again," Fenris said angrily.

"If I did, I wouldn't call you daddy," Hawke said in amusement.

"Reckless _and _disturbed. What a charming mind you have," Fenris said grumpily and started to walk. "Keep me out of it."

She turned around chuckling and walked forward, then arched her eyebrow with a grin. "If only he'd spank me, too."

"This is not the time," Fenris said sharply.

As he caught up with her, she gave him a cocky smirk. "So you're saying there'll be a time?" Hawke laughed. "Is that a promise?"

He drew up a faint ghost of a smile through his hair. "If you get us out of here alive, make no mistake that I will personally ensure you are disciplined correctly."

"I should start saving up on compresses, then," Hawke said in amusement, then frowned. "And look who's not playing Mr. Innocent doesn't-get-dirty-talk anymore."

He didn't answer, but she could see a small contained grin on his face before being enveloped by the darkness of the corridor they entered. She stopped suddenly and whispered, "Wait. This is reckless."

"_Now _you realize?" Fenris whispered back grumpily.

"Do I need to remind you how you ended up in here?" Hawke whispered angrily. He remained silent as he admitted defeat. "Didn't think so."

"I don't recognize this part of the catacombs," Fenris said quietly.

"Well we can't sit here and wait to get ambushed again." She put a hand over her forehead. "Ah, think, think, think."

Fenris contained his laugh. "Is your brain defying your wishes, little Hawke?"

"Stop that," she hissed angrily.

"Stop what?" he asked in confusion.

"The ever so subtle dirty jokes," she said. "I need to concentrate."

He crossed his arms in amusement. "I'm sorry, am I suddenly to understand that you can't think clearly in my presence?"

"No!" Hawke said assertively and sighed. "Now I wish I'd brought that Magical Ball of Fortune with me and gag you with it."

He snorted and remained unimpressed, saying in a sarcastic grumpy tone, "Oh, talk dirty to me."

"Oh, you want dirty talk? I'll give you dirty talk, just you wait," she threatened angrily.

Fenris tried to contain his laugh again. "Let us focus on one thing at a time. Getting out of here would be a reasonable main priority, I suspect."

"Exactly my point a minute ago, genius," Hawke said meanly. "Ah, if only …" Then it hit her, remembering her fall in front of the blood mage and the childish father references now.

"If only?"

Hawke sighed and smiled crookedly. "Can you be a dear and turn into an elven torch light for a few seconds?"

She heard him sigh grumpily in the dark before glowing blue. "Thank you ever so much," she said childishly and brought up her hands together.

"Is there a point to this?" Fenris asked calmly.

"More like a speck in space," Hawke said joyfully and closed her eyes to concentrate. A little bulb of light started to form spherically around the contour of her hands. It immediately started to fly around them as if it had a mind of its own. As it came near him, Fenris ducked down and growled angrily. The shimmering little orb hovered over and its magical hum tickled the hairs on the back of his neck. "Relax, Fenris. It won't bite."

He came back up and sighed as he turned off his glow. "I hope it has a function though."

"It does. It's going to find our friends," Hawke said confidently.

"What in blazes is it?" Fenris whispered angrily.

"Uh, it's a wisp?" she whispered back. "Haven't you seen one before?"

"Yes, all the time. Magisters just go head over heels for little summoned flying snowflakes, you know, when they're too tired summoning demons," Fenris said grumpily.

"You're right," Hawke said joyfully. "It does look like a little snowflake. I'll call it Fenris."

"Great," Fenris pretended sarcastically. "And when we get back home, remind me to name the three ugly mushrooms growing on my floor Hildegaard, Bianca and Hawke."

She snorted. "Joke's on you, Fenris, for having bad taste," Hawke stung back calmly.

She returned to concentrating on the tiny wisp with barely any consciousness to call its own. It was humming playfully in front of her, so she raised her palm to catch its attention. "I need you to be quiet," she whispered suavely. "You can do that, can't you?"

"And now she's talking to flying light balls," Fenris said in an ironic tone.

"Maybe I should have let you rot in that cage, hm?" Hawke said meanly. He rolled his eyes and decided to leave her do what she was doing. A tiny part of him still had her under a wild suspicion that she was not in her right mind because of her withdrawal. He killed that thought in his mind, because some things he did not want to remember. The horror she put him through in the Deep Roads, he did not need to see again.

The wisp dimmed and started spinning joyfully throughout the corridor. After a few moments, they could barely see it anymore. He pressed, "How exactly is it going to find them?"

"It's a summoned speck of a spirit," Hawke said and before he could frown and start with his magic paranoia, she added, "A good spirit. It will only find whoever is good to me. If it senses anything else it will simply fly back at me and let me know and if it encounters hostility, it explodes and deals damage. So it's a win-win."

"It seems your friend is getting distracted," Fenris said calmly, as they moved through the corridor and the wisp started tethering to every possible object and wall.

"It takes a bit until it gets used to this world," Hawke explained. "Good spirits, even the tiny speck of one; they do not have interest in crossing the Veil and they don't wish to linger whence they understand they have crossed it. They will return immediately, unless a mage asks them with the purest heart that they need their help."

"Oh? I imagine Anders must have had the _purest _heart when he asked that spirit of justice to help," Fenris said sarcastically as they walked side by side in the dark.

"That's different. Justice didn't cross the Veil by choice; he was cast out. If such a thing happens, the spirit can't cross back and it inevitably inhabits whatever corpse they encounter."

He had forgotten that part. "And he thought it was a good idea to do the spirit a favour and merge with him."

"That was _not _a good idea. I still stand by that," Hawke said calmly. "I'm not an expert at this, though. Father never mentioned anything about beings merging with spirits. Which only proves it is unnatural, I suspect."

"You suspect?" Fenris asked ironically.

"Well, it's still a _good _spirit," Hawke sighed. "But nevertheless, you're probably right. I mean, as far as I know, spirits are only good and useful if they are summoned. They retain their mind and will and help the mage with healing or protection, but not much else. That's kind of why I've never even heard of spirits of justice in the physical world. The only ones you hear of are of compassion or fortitude. They're living, objective virtues that have only one way of doing things: help, protect, heal. Justice… well, justice is more complicated than that. It depends on the one who wishes it upon the world. It… can be subjective."

"It turns into vengeance," Fenris said sharply, more to himself.

"Pretty much," Hawke said bitterly. "But enough. It's dangerous to make sounds in here."

"I agree," Fenris said calmly. Maybe she wasn't going crazy. She seemed in her right mind and reasonable enough in her explanations.

She whispered sometimes to the tiny spirit to come back if it sensed magic or saw a one-eyed raven statue and they would soon turn around and go through another passage that wasn't harbouring any magical wards. For a time, it seemed as though they had been passing through the same corridor over and over again. Hawke kept vigilant and focused, but hear and then she would look at Fenris in the dimness and see his face twitching and containing what she could only suspect were groans of discomfort. She didn't want to make him feel mothered, not unless he really was having trouble and his health was decreasing, but how could one even begin to guess what he felt? He understood and swallowed pain better than anybody. Sometimes she'd mistake his subtle flinches of pain for giving her the saucy eyebrow and then she would feel stupid. The only times she could be certain he was being in serious pain is when he was actually bleeding. She contained these thoughts, soon about to break and blast at him.

But it wasn't necessary, as it turned out. He finally stopped, his face appearing feverish and gasping for air. There he stood, his forehead pressed to the bars on the wall, both hands clutching at the iron. She saw his face wrinkled deeply in his wary scowl, the painful flutter of his gaze, a thin layer of sweat clinging to his cheek.

"You're not alright," Hawke said in a sharp, disapproving tone.

He shook his head. He tried to speak but he couldn't. He tried to gesture but he couldn't. His heart thundered in his chest. He glanced back at her and the small far-flung light of the wisp coming back from a distance to get beside her, but getting distracted and whirling around the walls. She heard his heart galloping and the shock, his fear, and it was fear for her, not for him. Fear that some awful fate could befall them because he was losing the state to function.

"Fenris, come here," Hawke pressed calmly. But he wouldn't. He clung to the bars stubbornly, right arm hooked around and left hand clasping it as if he wouldn't be moved. She told him back there, she told him it was going to weaken him, but he wouldn't listen. "Damn it, Fenris."

She issued the wisp to come back as fast as it could and once it arrived, luminously twirling and floating around her, she looked at it and said in a warm voice, "I need you do one other thing for me. Would you help me with another thing?" The wisp spun around and hummed excitedly, its small ethereal threads on the edges swaying in the air and glowing with an incandescent white. "Alright. Come with me," she said calmly as the wisp came into her palm. She approached Fenris, who was trying with his whole being to contain every bit of gasp and pant that were attempting to get out.

The light from the little spirit shimmered in her big, childlike eyes and he could see they were filled with concern and a bit of anger towards him. He hung on the bars, his eyes drawing a sorrowful look as if he was apologizing for being a burden. She knew this and she rolled her eyes, quite fittingly. Another second and he would have burst, but she caught him by the shoulder and told him, "I need you to keep it together and trust me. Can you do that for me?"

What a sublime, delightful tone she had, even amidst this wreckage and havoc. For a moment, he didn't even think she was talking to him, but instead to the wisp, because she spoke so gently that she seemed like a flower in bloom. He swallowed heavily in his throat and clenched his teeth before he gave her a silent nod.

"Still your heart," Hawke said quietly. He looked down at her, his chest heaving as though he were out of breath. "I'll take care of you."

In the following moment, as the wisp floated up from her palm, little soft threads of light on its edges started to tether to his body and to her hand, almost seeming semi-liquid or gooey as they touched him. It sent flows of incredibly mellow, gentle energy in his veins. A good, forbearing spirit it was. There was no malice or cruel intent in it, not even desire. It felt as if only the merest fraction of its being was crossing into his body, like the twinkling of a divine eye. The strength of the wisp solaced his skin and travelled in his insides without so much as a speck of pain or a twitch from him. It was a sentient manifestation of the charge that bound particles together, a cooperative and compassionate force and the perfect expression of the mysteries of the universe. Only not to forget, it was not doing it alone. It was helping the mage beside him and this compassionate force was coming just as much from the spirit as it was from her.

Once it was done, the tether broke and tiny sparkles went shimmering around them and landing on his face. They felt like faint drops of water, perhaps they really were. The wisp twinkled again happily and Hawke laughed and whispered to it, "Thank you. Now can you stay quiet again? We'll soon be on our way."

Fenris remained a bit dazed in his head - but not from the pain. No, the pain was gone. The fever was gone. The curious haze was rooted into this sudden sensation of Hawke's healing touch through the wisp; it was light, he felt like a feather or just some point in the air, floating and looking at the world as if he was out of it and wanted to come back. As if one suddenly felt the urge to speak to flowers, pick them up in handfuls or talk urgently with the stars. The night would never desert him and remained faithful under Hawke's protective presence. He felt as if he was on the roof of his mansion with her again, when he had the sudden realization that he wasn't going to die; that loneliness and neglect were simply insufficient, and he could always either preserve his immunity to them or change for the better if only he breathed on.

"Thank you, Hawke," he finally whispered hoarsely.

"Don't thank me, thank this little guy," she said joyfully with the wisp flickering around her head. "It likes you." He hated himself for suddenly having such a good time in a miserable moment like this, thinking of dancing with her through the corridors. He pretended to brush his hair away from his forehead, in reality slapping himself to reality. He would have to hit himself over the face more often.

Once his proud calm came back, he answered, "It does, doesn't it?" he said softly with a faint, vaguely warm expression. "Thank you, Ser Wisp." The spirit spun around excitedly again, this time around him, tickling the back of his neck again and soothing his hair as it twirled and hummed in what one could only name as pure joy.

"Guardian wisp," Hawke corrected him quietly. "I think that would be an appropriate role."

"Indeed," Fenris said flatly, his eyes rotating as they followed the dance of the wisp that started bobbing and floating around the walls again. It didn't seem far-fetched to assume, that in a way, her fate and role were rather similar to the newly appointed one belonging to the wisp. If they would ever discuss the depths of the Qun again, he would have to remember to tell her this realization.

* * *

><p>After a while, they stopped once they saw the remnants of some light coming from a torch. An opening was near and the wisp went through it excitedly. Fenris could see that this tensed Hawke, which was not a good sign. But as they remained calm and quiet for a minute, the wisp finally came back bobbing and swirling happily into her palm. He saw the subtle lines of her expression shift and her eyes widen and set blankly into the distance. "Hawke?" he whispered in worry.<p>

She didn't answer, seeming as if she were in a paralyzed trance. He put a hand over her shoulder, then her face finally twitched and she drew away. "Sorry. I always lose myself and get the shivers when it sends me images of what it saw."

"That's what it did?" Fenris asked in amazement. "How?"

"That, I don't know how to answer," Hawke whispered calmly. "It's just one of those things."

That were bound to remain a mystery. He thought of the painting in his mansion, the one with the beautiful lively scenery above and the lake of fire and lost souls below. He would remember to always hold alive in his soul the definition of good. He would also remember just how remarkably titanic the difference was between things like this spirit, the little wisp or this strong and kind-hearted mage beside him; and the blasphemous and bestial creatures the magisters here and the demons beyond were.

Truly colossal difference.

Beyond all cosmic proportions.

"I need you to do what more thing for me, and then you're free to go back," Hawke whispered in warm tone to the guardian wisp. "Distract the assassins. We'll come from behind, no worries."

The luminous spirit complied and shot off in the direction from whence it came, followed quietly by the two warriors. Once it entered the new room, they heard a drab Antivan-sounding language being articulated in the form of curses followed by spits. Fenris rushed swiftly in the darkness of a corner and assaulted the first guard he saw. With his markings glowing again, he hit a soft point and put the elf to sleep. He would not kill unless it was in defence. They stripped him of all his hidden weapons. Not much. Two black stilettos, an Antivan pocket knife and a cross-guarded longsword. Fenris picked up the longsword and gave it to Hawke an instant. He could do fine without one, having the markings up his sleeve, whereas she needed all the defence she could get. They didn't say a word to each other, their strategy well known between each other by now, and moved forward past the empty cells. The wisp flickered in the distance and rushed back to Hawke to send her images of the next room.

"I see someone," she whispered the in the faintest possible voice.

His eyes flinched and widened, preparing for whatever plan they had and completely forgetting why he became tense. "And?"

"He's beaten up and chained to the wall. Nothing else. There was a figure, but it left. Either that or it's a statue. The wisp can see, but not perceive and give meaning to things that are completely alien to it," she explained, then drew her sword out. "Let's go."

The wisp went in first and tethered itself to the chained figure in the dense darkness far from the beaten path. Good sign? It was too dark to see and the light of the wisp became much too weak, so Fenris decided to turn on his markings. Zevran. He was excruciatingly bruised all over his body, bare-chested and full of sharp cuts. He also had a deep cut over the two-lined tattoo on his face and another one over his neck, as if someone threatened him with death and offered him a quick demonstration.

"Zevran, can you hear me?" Hawke whispered in alarm as she tethered herself to the wisp to give it more light and energy to give to him. "Oi!"

It was a horrifying sight, even if he had seen this time a dozen in his life as a slave. Zevran's head hung low and swollen, half of it flowing with blood dropping to the ground and the once strong, but childlike expression, his aura of innocence, they were stained with the gore of evil. It became a cruel reminder of powerful men inflicting pain on others just for their amusement. Just to see how much they can crush something smaller than them without actually killing it; leaving it to whimper, suffer and rot in its helplessness. He would not remember. More so, that he was beginning to imagine – what if Hawke had pissed these people off with all her might, that he would come to find her here instead of this elf; stripped, bloody, scarred and beaten, almost lifeless and far beyond a chance to survive, since she was the only one who had the power to heal. Her eyes stripped of their radiance and the rich lines of her expression numbed out and cancelled, painting only a ghost of what she once had been. He would not imagine. This was not the time to go mad.

He knew he would go mad.

Vividly, the threads of the spherical guardian spirit glued to Zevran's bloody neck; at once it begun palpitating and his face shifted, but only in subtle, faint lines of movement, his eyes still closed and his breathing less than scarce. "Zevran, open your eyes. Do you hear me?" Hawke said in a quiet, soothing tone. "You're not dying on me now, you bloody idiot. Come back to me."

Zevran's pale lips flinched and his teeth gritted before he let out a ghost of a gasp. Then he said in the most warm tone they had ever heard, "Cara mia." Fenris went straight for the chains and punched them loose, as Hawke kept the tether alive and tried as much as she could to sustain the spell, although she was becoming weak. Zevran started to twitch his lips again and his eyebrows joined in a scowl, as he titled his head and lifted an arm with such difficulty one would think he was held back by invisible massive plates. He immediately coughed up blood and held on to Hawke's shoulder, then his palm came to her cheek. "Thank you, cara," he said in a hoarse voice, with his eyes half-open. "Let us go home."

He was seeing his wife. There was no time to correct him or snap at him to wake up in full vigilance. Patience. Patience was key. She let him hold on to her, with Fenris holding him by the arm from on his other side. This was not an ideal way of handling things. The wisp was too busy, Hawke was too busy. He had to watch out for surprises, so he kept his eyes forward.

"Forgive me, cara," Zevran said again in his hazed state, then he coughed brutally. "I should have listened to you."

"You're alright," Hawke replied firmly. She was beginning to lose her vision, but she wouldn't stop now. She let the wisp continue its work and didn't even begin to let herself think to ask Fenris to do their new private trick again. "Come on, Zev, open your eyes." She might as well play along with his dazed impression. "For me?"

"Anything for you," Zevran replied with the most determined voice, despite the painful huskiness that accompanied the tone. He eventually managed to open his eyes and stand on his own two feet without falling. When Hawke broke the tether and let the wisp float around bump into walls again as if it needed a break to replenish its energy by hitting itself (or perhaps it simply wanted to go back to the Fade – yes that was more likely), it appeared as though Zevran finally came to his senses. Breathing heavily, he widened his eyes with a terrified lift to his eyebrows. "Cara, where did you go?"

"She had to leave. I'm her taller clownish replacement," Hawke said in amusement.

"Braska," he cursed like a child, in-between panting.

"Where are the others?" Hawke pressed. "Oh and look where our swords went," she said and pointed at the sword-stand near the torture rack.

"Oh, give me a moment," Zevran said in pain. "Shit. _This _is what dicks in vinegar feel like."

"I… could have lived without knowing that," Hawke said while chuckling. "Where are the others?"

"Ah, we got ambushed. It overwhelmed us," Zevran said in pain.

Hawke's breathing could not get more haunted. "Us?" Her tone could not be more contained. She clenched her teeth. She couldn't wait. Not for this elf to bounce back to reality, not for anything.

"I let your dwarven friend escape. As for Amadeo, I truly do not know," Zevran stated quietly.

"You _let _my friend escape?" Hawke asked in amazement. "Heh," she let out the air out of her voice in relief. "You truly are a professional good-doer." This was good. Varric was a mastermind in remaining invisible. He would be well. He had to be.

"I told you I am no liar," Zevran said confidently. He swayed a bit and let the bones in his spine crack as he stretched. "You know I had the weirdest dream?"

Hawke got out a compress from her hidden pockets and rapidly grazed all his cuts. "What was the dream about?"

He coughed and swayed a bit, almost tripping on his own feet. "I was falling down a flight of stairs and ended in a pit full of beautiful, radiant virgins. A macabre voice came about my ears, it was the Devil. He told me I had to deflower all of them to get out and if I didn't comply, they would all turn into hideous snakes and devour me for days and leaving me to die in agony."

"Here we go again," Fenris said grumpily with his head still turned to the door that separated them from hypothetical disaster.

"Exactly so. Here we go again," Zevran said in a serious voice. "Can you imagine? Having to go through all that nasty trouble again and again and again? Ay, caramba!" he almost shouted childishly and shook his head.

"I _think _he's fine now," Fenris said sharply. "Let us leave."

"And then mi cara showed herself to me. She took me away from that filth and raised me to the heavens," Zevran said softly as he breathed in and out. "Oh, and it was you, in fact. Ah, perhaps she sent you to me," he said deliriously, then finally shook his head rapidly and came back to his senses. He looked at Hawke and nodded knightly, "Forgive me, my dear. I was not in my right mind."

"No offence taken," Hawke said in amusement. "I never heard anyone speaking so warmly to a ghost before."

"What? Is it _that_ inconceivable that I am capable of love?" Zevran asked in a bit of make-believe outrage as he sat down on a box.

"No, of course not," Hawke said sharply, circling her foot around the ground. "You can have plenty of love," she said with a smile, then arched an eyebrow. "Curable by marriage."

"Oh, what a cynic you are," Zevran sneered. "I grew up amongst whores and fucked half of Antiva and even then I was still not as doubtful as you."

"What? I just made a joke, lighten up," Hawke said with a raised eyebrow, not realizing Fenris was listening in carefully.

"My dear, half of any joke is just the bare truth," Zevran said as he tried to come back to all his senses. He put a hand over his forehead and tried to breathe. "And one does not need to be a genius or a clairvoyant to see do not see butterflies, rainbows and unicorns in your future."

"Yes, exactly so," Hawke snorted. "Idealism is not my strong key."

"Ah, but it needn't be," Zevran said calmly. "One simply needs to bump heads with reality before it hits them square in the jaw. Ah, but all these thoughts are moot. You will see when the time comes."

"Are you done yet?" Hawke asked with vivid annoyance in her tone. "Can you stand up?"

"Patience," Zevran said with a scowl. "Also, now I really do feel bad for your friend over there."

"I'm sensing another earth-shattering lesson coming about," Fenris finally joined in annoyance.

"Well, she makes you bark up her leg, taunting you with a bone you can't have. That much is clear, my friend," Zevran said calmly.

"I am not _barking _on anyone's leg," Fenris said in a sharp, controlled tone. "And you would do well to keep to your business."

"Ah, fine," Zevran yielded nonchalantly. "You two are a pain in my head anyway. Quite frankly, you deserve each other." He paused awkwardly as if he just realized he was insulting her. "I did not mean literally. I am grateful that you rescued and healed me, my friend. Forgive my impertinence."

"That's what I wanted to hear," Hawke said sarcastically. "Any time you're ready," she said impatiently.

Zevran tried to stand up, tumbling a bit in his walk towards them. "I did not mean to offend, my friends. But quite frankly, you would do well to look at me as proof it _does _get better if you stop fidgeting so much and brooding on your eggs of despair."

"Keep walking," Hawke interrupted his speech sharply. She sighed and called upon the wisp again. "Just a little bit more, my friend. I need you to find the others. If you don't want to, you can go back."

"See! That's it, right there!" Zevran almost shouted childishly.

"What is?" Hawke asked in confusion.

"That's how you make a marriage work!" he said eagerly and gestured while explaining, "You give the other the freedom to choose what they do next. You assure them of the safety that whichever decision they make is _never_ the wrong one."

"We are in a prison," Fenris said sharply. "We are still missing two people, who are probably dead for all we know," he continued disapprovingly, "And somehow we're stuck with a former perverted assassin who is giving us soul teachings about eternal love and successful marriages." He looked up at the ceiling and sighed heavily. "If this is not a dream, mark my words; I will never ever doubt that the Maker exists anymore. No amount of hazardous particles floating about at random could ever gather up the strength to have such a poor sense of humour."

"Fenris… I can't even begin to express in words how right you are at this point," Hawke agreed grumpily.

"Good, let him be right once in a while. That also works wonders," Zevran said charmingly.

"Shut it, Romeo," Hawke hissed angrily, as they followed the wisp through the new dark passage.

Zevran grinned as he followed then and pointed at Hawke. "See, that… that you do not want to do, my dear." He paused to enjoy the murderous look she began to give him as they walked. "Not unless you're shouting orders either in battle or in the bedroom," he continued with his tips, amusing himself to bits at their annoyance.

"You're such a pie," Hawke said mockingly.

"Yes, I am a fountain of eternal clarity and wisdom," Zevran mused joyfully. "You would do well to listen to me, my dear."

"I'm too busy trying to save our sodding arses," Hawke said angrily, trying not to let the wisp craze and get distracted. She stopped and called upon it again in her thoughts so it would give her vision of the next room.

"Ah, exactly so. You are so much like my cara," Zevran said playfully. "Always too busy rescuing others, no one there to rescue her. Until I came along, of course."

"Oh yes, when you came to _kill _her," Fenris stung sharply.

"And look how it all turned out!" Zevran said joyfully while raising his hands in the air. "I am free, well, _almost _free – considering the prison – and I am a happy man. If the fortune teller in the whorehouse I grew up in had told me that such marvellous turn of events would be in store for me, I would have spat and laughed in her face."

"Not everyone is as lucky as you," Hawke said calmly. "But I get your point. You make the most of where you are, and it might surprise you how much you have just under your nose."

"She speaks words of wisdom, but does not see it for herself," Zevran said in amusement. "Ah, you are a fine one, Hawke."

"_I'm a mage_, as you have may have recently noticed," Hawke said with discomfort in her tone. "Like I said, not everyone can be as luck as you."

"Psht! As if that makes any difference," Zevran mused confidently. "You live, breathe and have a heart that beats just the same as me and big bad Fenris next to me." She had to admit, it was rather fascinating how little this elf cared for differences of any kind, let alone the fact that he was speaking freely to a human and condoning relationships between her race and his as if it was no titanic matter whatsoever.

"Oh, tell _him _there's happiness in store for him. Just test that and see what happens," Hawke grinned confidently.

"He's a man, my dear. It's fairly easy to make a man happy. They don't need to sit down and think on it or even realize that it's happening," Zevran said confidently.

"_Really_? Never would have guessed that," Hawke asked mockingly.

Zevran laughed quietly. "Men are very simple. And because they are so simple, the woman was created to, well, how to put it…"

"Complicate everything?" Fenris finally joined again.

"Na, that is a bit harsh," Zevran said calmly. "Let's say women exist to make up for the blind spots of men, for some fairly simple concepts are curiously hard for us to grasp. Like a glowing wisp to guide us in the dark," he said and pointed at the spirit in the distance. "And there are so many blind spots, am I right, my friend?" he asked and elbowed Fenris.

"I stopped paying attention after _na,_" Fenris said in a serious tone.

"I stopped paying attention for a good half hour," Hawke sneered and walked faster.

"Ah, you are no fun," Zevran grinned joyfully as he followed from behind, looking at the two and shaking his head in delight at their deflections.

* * *

><p>After what seemed like an hour of roaming suspiciously<em> empty<em> hallways, the wisp finally gave Hawke vision of some movement about. She would have been content to encounter a full nest of blood mage only if it would mean she could return to her charming dwarven friend who never bothered to keep her teachings on matters of the heart. Fenris also was growing fairly annoyed and wished that Armand would be alive to call him _little bitch _again. His harsh advice and name calling was much, _much _more tolerable than Zevran's eternal speeches of wisdom, however sane and reasonable they might have sounded.

"I think it's them," Hawke whispered as they hid in a corner. She tried with all her energy to concentrate on the little that the wisp understood from the images and picked up a strong image of Avicus. "It's that mage. Stay here."

"Come again, Hawke?" Fenris said sharply.

Hawke rolled her eyes. "I'll go in alone. You wait and come from behind if anything bad happens."

"Say that again and I'll personally cut you," Fenris whispered angrily.

"She is right," Zevran intervened. "That mage had a fascination with her. It might benefit us to use her as bait. We could have time to go around and look for Amadeo."

"I- _We _are not using her as bait." His tone was angry. Hearing his distressed, controlled tone, the whole manner in which Fenris spoke, she couldn't help but draw a smile. Good thing it was dark, for she felt her cheeks suddenly burn. No time for this. Concentrate.

"I'll be fine," she said confidently. "Have a little trust, will you?"

She turned her head to look at the twirling and impatient wisp and called it back in her hand. "Thanks a bunch, friend. Couldn't have done it without you," she said knightly. "Off you go," she saluted it warmly and in a second, the air rippled in waves around the spirit and swallowed it back into the Fade with a joyful hum, as if it had said goodbye to them.

Hawke sighed and nodded at them, then turned her back and walked forward into the room. Fenris watched her open the heavy door, making a roaring clank which echoed in his thundering heart as she disappeared.

* * *

><p>It was a grand room, full of benches and raven statues, stunning arches and all in all, an eerie but beautiful architecture. This was an altar of sorts, and a figure was sitting on a chair up front.<p>

Avicus, the mage. He sat down, boylike, casual, with one knee crooked, his face parchment white, hair a long in a tangled mess of dark curls. He looked up at her with predictable fascination as she approached.

In a way, he made her think of a child doll, with brilliant faintly grey-blue glass eyes—a doll that had been found in an attic and sought to possess the innocent passer-by. A vagabond child of the Void, put on this earth solely to _piss her off._

"Somehow I could not expect less of you," Avicus said, his grin stretching out with deeply annoying delight all over his expression.

"Yeah, I have a great sense of making an entrance," Hawke said sarcastically, controlling her anger.

"You look good to me, you damnable little devil," Avicus said while showing his sharp teeth. He inhaled with a smile, "Good to embrace and good to love."

They eyed each other for a moment. And then he surprised her, rising and coming towards her just as she moved in defence. He stopped right in front of her and suddenly caressed the length of her shoulder. His gesture wasn't tentative, but it was extremely gentle. She could have backed away. She didn't.

"Are you done?" Hawke asked demandingly. "My nap time is due and I really want my friend back before sunrise."

"Friend, she says, as if it were nothing," Avicus said softly with a grin, starting to stroke her hair. She didn't flinch.

"You will tell me where he is. And don't try your nasty trick again, because it won't work," Hawke said confidently and smirked. "I just learned a new trick."

"Oh, forgive me for that. You gave me no choice," Avicus said softly, calmly. "I truly do not intend to hurt you."

"No, you just intend to capture me and put me to good use," Hawke said unperturbed. She didn't fear him. He knew that and it annoyed him just as much as it fascinated him. She had to keep it together.

"What I intend is exactly what I have made clear to you from the beginning," Avicus said calmly. "I want to help you. I want to make you rise to the highest form of your potential. I want to give you my leadership here."

"I'm sure you're a very busy man, with much to get busy with," Hawke said and looked at the altar, which sent shivers down her spine thinking how many died on that table.

"Ah yes! I_ am_ selfish!" Avicus said with delight. "It is indeed my own selfish desire to lessen my burdens. But as you can see, there are truly few of us left that could really live up to this role."

"We are both intelligent people here. You know I'm not interested in magic, _any _magic, and you can assume I am very_ busy_ myself," she said and looked around, pointing out the obvious that the difference between them was colossal and she was here for the exact opposite reason he was.

"I see, I see," Avicus said. "But there's little point to continue being so busy in your current situation. I mean, I do not doubt that there are more of you hiding around here," he said and laughed softly, going in circles around her, "You do inspire loyalty wherever you go."

"Yeah, it's called being good," Hawke said sharply. "So what do you want?"

"I want you to be good. I want you to do good and far and wide," Avicus said with a broad grin. "If only you would allow me a moment of your time."

"Lesser rage demons have come up to me with better and more convincing offers," Hawke stung, remaining unimpressed as she crossed her arms.

"And that is exactly why I want you with me!" Avicus said joyfully. "You are hard to tear down, are you not? It is much too difficult for any demon to pounce on your desires, insufficiencies or vulnerabilities."

"Nah, I'm proud," Hawke lied nonchalantly.

Avicus laughed softly. "A careful choice of words is in order. You are much too proud to rule. But do you see yourself as struggling with inferiority, with inadequacy… insufficiency?"

"On the contrary," Hawke said and smirked. "I'm too much."

"Oh, you are delicious," Avicus laughed joyfully, stretching his arms out widely. "Tell me, child. How did you become so resistant? What made you so merciless and unyielding in the face of pure evil?" he almost hissed with desire and joy through his teeth.

"Who said I'm any of those things?" Hawke asked in amusement. "It's not as if you've summoned a demon to cast me into the Fade and test out that theory. Not that I'm giving you any ideas by that, but alas," she finished nonchalantly.

He laughed with such delight, it was clear he was both sane and insane. "See? You are not a fool. But you do not fear for your life. You talk to me, a representative of a people you – I have no doubt – have enormous scorn for. You even give the villain ideas for your own torture. How is that not fascinating? How is that not simply… ah, a rare, purely brave heart."

"It could also simply mean I'm a masochist," Hawke said with a shrug.

"I doubt it, although I do not discard that idea," Avicus said calmly. "But seeing as how you are skilled in both swords and magic, well… what a waste. Your life would be a waste, if you'd put yourself in danger just to be punished. You may be perceived as indispensible to your friends, am I wrong? Do you see it as a punishment?"

"Being punished with having friends," Hawke said and pretended to ponder on it. "Wooh, a paradox," she said mockingly.

"You help, you save, you do all it takes," Avicus said perceptively. "So if I am to guess, their safety is a blessing. Even now, they are safe, are they not? So it is not a punishment you desire, their deaths."

"Not if I can help it," Hawke said flatly. She knew this was too much. This would end badly. She trusted though, that somehow Fenris and Zevran would find a way to solve their little problem and find the others. Her? It didn't matter. She was distracting him perfectly, if they truly managed to get away.

"Ah, this is good," Avicus said to himself. "You are a good woman."

"Your eyesight is working _fine _today. I hope to never see you tomorrow, however. Now how would I accomplish that?" Hawke asked nonchalantly. "How can I make you happy, without you making _me_unhappy?"

"Tell me everything," Avicus said with hunger in his eyes. "Everything."

Tell him _everything_? She would have to start with the colour of her smallclothes. That much was clear. "If I tell you, would you let my friend go?" Hawke asked mockingly. "If it's not too much to ask."

"Hmmmmm," he said childishly, caressing his chin in entertainment. "What say you, Amadeo?" he asked softly and looked to his left, where the strong posture of the red-headed elf came about from another room, looking almost positively taken with hunger. His eyes weren't his own anymore. His face was that of a stranger, not that she knew him very well. But it was changed.

_Damn it. _Shivers went up and down her spine, her blood froze in her veins and she was enveloped in the sudden urge to vomit. If this was all it took, she prayed for the miracle that Fenris, if ever faced with his master, would be different. But even so, Armand could have easily been pretending. Although, the look on his face, sharp and murderous, compliant and waiting for his master to give out the words – it was almost unbearable to watch and he could have had her fooled.

"Such mockery," Hawke said bravely. "How about you let him go. Or do I have to ask nicely, too?"

"Ah, you're making it hard for me," Avicus finally said with an innocent sigh. "I do not even know who I want more from the two of you."

"How about neither?" Hawke pressed aggressively. "Oh come on, old man. You have a cascade of slaves and assassins at your feet and I'm not here to rescue them all. Surely you don't miss him _that_much, since you seem to never have looked after him," she said and crossed her arms again with a perceptive grin. "You can't be this stupid, not to have found him by now."

Avicus looked at her with sudden discomfort in his controlled expression. Something sparked in his eye, something cruel. "How about this?" He beckoned for Armand to approach. "Since you seem to be so purely driven by doing what is good, how about you prove it right here and now."

She frowned and waited for him to continue, swallowing hard because she could not be more certain that this man would turn her virtues into weaknesses. "You fight to the death. If he defeats you, he is free to leave," he said and got out the vial necklace with Armand's blood out from beneath his robes. "Forever," he finished in an all serious tone and bowed to her. "This, I swear."


	17. A Matter Of Life And Death

I walk, I walk alone  
>Into the promised land<br>There's a better place for me  
>But it's far, far away<br>Everlasting life for me  
>In a perfect world<br>But I gotta die first  
>Please God send me on my way<p>

Time has a way of taking time  
>Loneliness is not only felt by fools<br>Alone I call to ease the pain  
>Yearning to be held by you, alone, so alone, I'm lost<br>Consumed by the pain

In My Darkest Hour

Nothing more could be gained from lingering near the Crows. I'd come. I'd fulfilled my purpose. I couldn't help him.

None of this made any sense, yet I did not wish for sense altogether. All I had known, my whole life since I'd escaped, was that I would do whatever it took to protect myself, as well as my friends. Who were these people, whom I called friends, as shocking and unnerving as it might have been?

Dorian. My sweet, silver-grinned Dorian, always strong and reassuring, yet a saint in all his modesty. He could always bring in me a smile even in my darkest hour. And hours like this, there had been plenty, though I had lost count by the time I had tasted what it truly meant to be free. I was grateful, so very grateful, that the Ferelden woman issued the Rivaini to remain at the inn and watch over him. He would not come to harm. And then there was Zevran. Cocky and musing, mumbling hot spice and cracking up the most scandalizing of jokes and scenarios with his abominable, depraved imagination.

But don't judge so quickly. Please, do not judge just yet. All this sum of strange or overwhelming attitudes you see, they are a battalion of defences and a carefully constructed aura to mask the great depth of our irreducible, individual soul. Without them, I would not be free. I did not wish to come back here; it was Zevran's wish. And in his hour of need, I could not refuse, even if I knew I'd hurt my beloved tenfold with my decision. Of course, he didn't say a word. Maybe just a ghost of a flinch that I'd seen with the back of my eye, across the subtle lines of his ever-warm expression. He understood I could not go back on my word to be at my friend's side and gave me the freedom to choose. And I had chosen, even if it meant the death of me. Only now, I could almost find in me a disturbing sensation that I wanted to weep. Not for my salvation, no.

Even if this scene that I am currently in had tormented by dreams and my nights over and over again for years – imagining what it would be like to be caught again, my happiness ruined, my being obstructed and enchained – I truly didn't see it coming. Not this way. Deliver us from evil, the prayer went. I didn't care at that moment for me, yet with all my being I wept inside for a miracle to save the soul in front of me, which had in all her bravery, came to rescue me, for no possibly fruitful reason other than perhaps, to be just. To do good. To sacrifice herself for the greater good. She is not a fool, she is not insane. I do not wish my freedom if it means killing her. It is a curious feeling, one many will never ever know – when you know you will not die, but you are overwhelm by the desire to. Such are the wolves of the forest, such are men who were trained to resist, to survive. They are broken people, and because they are broken, they know they will not die.

Such are the people who are not necessarily cruel, but had tasted cruelty dime a dozen. You look at a former slave and you will see nothing if not a perfect aura of content – either through a cocksure, joyful and carefree attitude as my friend exudes with such refined grace and talent, or by a cold, indomitable, hard face. That of a wolf, that of a tiger. It keeps all eyes away from prying and makes the blood freeze inside with striking reverberations of fear. It leaves an impression. It makes people understand we are not to be played with and we cannot be fooled. But of course, if you somehow manage to leave an impression on an escaped slave _yourself_, the repercussions of it will be quite fruitful, if not otherwise painful, depending on the slave. I would say my past decisions and behaviour concluded into a painful train of consequences for my friends, for my Dorian, but the end had enclosed my tale most fruitfully and joyfully. I think… I hope I did not hurt him quite so much, although I will never know for sure (better that I don't know). Because people like us, they can only be toned down, understood and tamed by truly strong people. We are a terrible challenge, a rare one to be accepted.

Yet this is the thing. In the manner of beasts, we set our tune for the world and treat it with the same coldness and prudence we had learned to root deep into end of every nerve and vein as we worked the field or carried enormous weights, when we were beaten because we were too weak to move on, when we were being kicked while we were down and unable to get up (but we would always get up), when we were tortured and healed, only to be whipped and smashed again until every speck of hope and warmth would be stripped from our conscience, our bones and our soul. But we would never show it affects us. We would never dare to leak any bit of emotion, terrible though it might be. We make it our personal burden, our desperation and our doubts remain private. The ones who didn't perished before their hearts stopped beating, before they ever died.

True death was born on the inside.

It feels so cold, so very cold. No grace dares to shine upon you. This is not a life, when you are obstructed of your own will. The only difficulty lies in the fact that if you are born this way, if you are stripped of your liberties from the very beginning, you would not know what freedom means. Your will is not your own and all your being has been constructed from the start to think only of what to on behalf of the Master; you are at his mercy and your role suffices with every "Yes, Master." You are absent of all convictions, impressions and curiosities as to how one may function if they are left to decide for their own. Most slaves do not survive if they become free. It is best if they remain where they are, for they are safer under their master's wings. Truly there is a higher chance to be put for safekeeping. But it is not a life. I would never return to that illusion, deep blasphemous illusion given by these unholy, dreaded excuses of creation.

One would not remember. Not when one was free. It is terrible to keep it together, terrible to remain and appear like a cold, hard beast, bad to the bone, never yielding, when inside you are no less than a lump of melting sugar if one great, brave soul had the courage to dwell deep enough. We are fearful, emotional, we feel and we breathe, and with every breath comes that fear.

Why am I disturbing this story? I will not do it much longer, so be patient. I promise I will end soon. I only wish you to listen a little more. Soon someone else will take over, as I finish dictating my own tale to the very end. My end is nigh, so do not worry.

So why have I chosen to mumble away this monologue of despair? It is because I am faced with my worst fear.

My flesh still crawls as I breathe this name, Avicus.

I will not bore you with the details of my life under the command of his man. It is unnecessary and time has a way of taking time, of which I don't have much, as you may see. I only say this – When I encountered him, I saw these men and knew what they wanted, that this was vice, and despicable, and the price of it was Hell. Curses of vanished elders echoed down on me: too pretty, too soft, too pale, eyes far too full of the Devil.

The sight of his sharply focused and unchanging eyes unnerved me, and I was quiet inside and full on protecting those nearest me, the ones who were helping me, but I was not strong enough just yet to face that one damnable little vial of ugliness that Avicus was. Every one of the boys I lived with in Vol Dorma knew of this. The Master knew good from evil, he knew of deceit. The boys were good boys.

My soul simply paralyzed and it was eating itself up in absolute terror. It was a deafness, it was a sickness. Masters? Sure, I had plenty. But none did manage to leave a print and an open wound as unbearable as he did. I will not bore you with the details, as I said, but every slave has that one master who will simply make his soul die for at least a few seconds before snapping back to life, _if _they ever get to. Me? I am not so sure I am going to.

It is truly wicked, truly saddening... to find yourself back in the claws of one who had killed you so many times by day and by night. I had worked hard to come to a form of reasonable behaviour, of reasonable motives to exist, of reasonable pleasures of life to enjoy, to allow!

What I do know… I don't even remember. I simply now I woke up from the blood spell he had put on me and I was alone. Again, alone and now helpless more than ever. I was mechanically driven to get out, to snap, to get away. Then something simply changed. Perhaps I am under a spell right now. Perhaps… we never truly change. Not after this much horror. And I never truly knew what it meant, to die.

And it is a madness, to know now that there is nothing worse than for a fallen saint to become a horrid devil. I was animated against my will… or maybe I was a compliant little pet again. I do not know. All I do know is that it was such a painful sight and I could not control my mind. I had no body, I had no soul. There might have been – there _was_, this little man inside of me, Armand, but he was chained by all my internal organs as if they were made of metal and spikes; they suffocated him and clung to him like impatient executioners. They had no more time to waste on such foolishness.

I was Amadeo again.

* * *

><p>The fear began to gnaw on her, worming its way into the pit of her stomach.<p>

"You can't be serious," Hawke snorted in anger, then put a hand over her forehead. "Who am I kidding? Of course you're serious."

"What?" Avicus asked innocently with a grin. "You can't endure this?"

"Like hell I won't," she gritted her teeth in control. "This is the poorest way to play with my weaknesses if I've ever seen one."

"Well," Avicus laughed. "Let us see if you do have them."

She frowned in confusion and he continued, "Maybe what you lack is in fact, mercy. Maybe in reality, you are just as much the wolf that kills for his own safety, searching for his pack to justify it as goodwill." He grinned deviously and shrugged playfully, "Who knows? Maybe without them, you might just be a killer."

"Maybe you're barking mad," Hawke snarled in a controlled tone.

"Simple, irreducible," Avicus continued calmly. "And even so," he snorted and started moving around them, ending up next to Armand and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, "if you cannot endure this… how can you endure eternity, my child?" he asked calmly, while caressing Armand's shoulder from behind. "Don't you know that's what I mean to give you?" he asked eagerly, tilting his head so it would touch Armand's.

What a spit, what a horrible spit in her sight. She tried to search Armand's eyes for his sanity, to fathom any trace of him being the same. For a moment, it seemed as if he twitched his lips in a faint expression of disgust, the one she sometimes saw Fenris let out vaguely whenever there would be a mention of slavery, or when they had to deal with such beings. It felt inevitable, that she would have to fight him. Her eyes pressed further into his, capturing his impenetrable expression. He was indomitable, out of this world, his face bore the cruelty of past realities he would have never wanted to live again. His sharp green-eyed gaze had a fullness of calm hostility, but they bore no malice, no hunger, no intent for slaughter – at least she wanted to believe it. It sickened her to let him be touched by this monster of incurable pride. It sickened her to see the deaf box of screaming in front of her, that was Armand. It was inconceivable that he would turn so quickly, it was… no. He had no choice, unless he was somehow paralyzed and animated by some blasphemous spell.

"You little imp," Hawke said with calm assertiveness. "You miserable little whelp."

"Ah, you damnable little child," Avicus cried joyfully. "I could have given you so much more. Instead you would weep and kneel in front of any poor defenceless soul as if that would make a difference." He walked around her now. "You know it does not make a difference."

"And your rule does?" Hawke asked calmly.

"You are not helping yourself. You give and give, all while destroying yourself in the process," Avicus said with a smile, gesturing at her sword. "I do things in such a way, that it both benefits me, as well as others. Amadeo knows best, how much I have helped him," he said as he glanced warmly at the elf, then started to approach her. "And even so, you know better than me what it means to make the most of where you are, in a land where fortune favours no mage."

"Excuses," Hawke muttered sharply. As if suddenly making use of _all _her "potential" would make a difference for the better.

"There are reasons why the Imperium has never ever crumbled, even amidst a whole world that is dead-set on ending people like us," Avicus said calmly. "And people like _you,_ there are few, but benefited the empire greatly." She flinched a bit, hearing those words, so he grinned. "Have I piqued your interest then?"

"Oh, yes, this is most interesting," Hawke nodded mockingly. "Such a perfect time for pointless history lessons."

"You are right," he said. "Few like us remain. We should make history, not dwell upon it."

"You want to make an army then?" Hawke asked calmly. "Gather all the forces you can get, all types of people, classes and nationalities, so there would be no one simple goal. It would not look like a common protest and it will never look like it's about mages. Instead, it would look like preservation of liberty, for everyone. I get it, I get it," she laughed. "I want to part of it."

"A shame, really," Avicus said calmly. "If you really are set on me to be your enemy, I would see it as most reasonable to abuse of my help, until you turn the tables. Strike from the inside. I suppose there are still lessons you have yet to learn."

"You really are without faults, aren't you?" Hawke snarled. "Good. This will make it a lot easier."

"You do not fear me. I respect that," Avicus said calmly. "But do not forget, I do not fear you either, my lady."

"How merciful for you," Hawke mocked him with a smile.

"Teach me to feel another's woe, to hide the fault I see, that mercy I to others show, that mercy show to me," Avicus recited candidly. "Hessarian was a wise man. Too wise for his own good. Few are capable of perceiving the world with such clarity, yet they overlook the high price they will have to pay." He looked at her sharply and continued, "One act of mercy which led to chaos for a whole people. He did not take into account… that justice and mercy do not have an impact on people's minds. They cannot conceive of equality and peace. They just open doors to more cruelty, to find someone else to pester and blame." Then he laughed bitterly, "No wonder the spirits have no interest in our world."

"And you actually believe you are some dignified vagabond good-doer mage in disguise who gets away with using demons because it's people's own fault they hold darkness in their hearts. Punish and bring justice by making use of the sickness the Maker left us with and practically threw on a plate for us," Hawke pressed insistently. "Forsake this creed. You are too smart for it."

"Do you see me possessed by some foul creature?" Avicus chuckled. "Like you said, I am too smart for it."

"I don't give one spitting copper that you're not possessed," Hawke shouted.

"But I do," Avicus laughed. "You are like me. You do not desire. You do not search. You do not fear to be blown away by some cruel discovery and change your entire views because of one simpleton or the other. The world just goes on and on, and it is your place to do, but not for your own gain. Therefore, demons have a bit of trouble figuring out what you need. Therefore, you do not yield."

"Oh, goodie. Someone finally gives me some credit," Hawke said sarcastically. "This must be destiny."

"You jest, but it's the truth," Avicus said, smiling. "Why else would it be so, that you haven't yet perished in these catacombs?" He grinned, playing with her logic. "Think about it."

"I tire of this," Hawke growled and lowered her brow. "You want me to kill your slave?" She drew the sword out of her sheath calmly. "Fine by me."

"Do you think me a fool?" Avicus laughed. "You lie through semantics of truth with such talent. Do you think I don't know what strategy you are trying to pull?"

"Now you're just contradicting yourself," Hawke said with her temper almost losing it. "This is pointless."

She knew it, that he wasn't the one to speak with. She knew she couldn't attack him, but he was not going to attack her either. Not unless she pissed him off entirely. Armand, or whoever he was now, would possibly strike her, though. _Where in the Void are you people, _she shouted within. Fenris and Zevran had better had some plan to get them out of this mess. If not, so be it. Set Armand free was her first priority, not make them both get out alive.

"Enough, indeed," he sighed. "I trust you will stick with your principles," he said with a smile. "But just to be sure," he said playfully and distanced himself from them. Soon whirls of light refracted from his hands and formed a circular barrier around the two. "So nobody would disturb you."

_Fuck._

* * *

><p>"Venhedis," cursed Fenris incessantly. "Fasta vass."<p>

"Come with me," Zevran said calmly and started to walk in the next corridor past the room Hawke had went in.

"You think I'm going to trust you and leave Hawke?" Fenris almost shouted desperately.

"If you want to mope around and curse thinking this will save her, by all means, do that," Zevran said confidently, spinning a dagger between his fingers. "But if you want to be truly awesome, we need to take the upper hand."

"You've got three seconds to state your strategy, then I'm going inside," Fenris hissed impatiently.

Zevran reached for one of the many pockets of his belt and got out a set of strangely looking bejewelled keys. "I got this out of Pasquale while he was so busy harassing our lady friend."

"And?"

"And mind you, if we go in, do not doubt we will simply be stricken down by a horde of hidden assassins lurking in the shadows through some hidden doors," Zevran stated quite calmly. "Now, as much as these catacombs make me think that if I suddenly swallowed through the wrong hole, I might not battle it and let myself choke to death, I'm thinking… _not today._"

"No more riddles, elf," Fenris growled in annoyance as he approached him.

"We go around and strike from behind any hidden back-up this man has packed in about," Zevran said strategically. "And then maybe you could put that trick of yours to good use."

"We don't have time for this," Fenris said angrily. "They will murder each other."

Zevran looked down bitterly with a pause, "Trust her. I trust my own friend, that he will not do anything stupid."

"I'm not counting upon some fantasy that people simply forget their blind instinct all of a sudden," Fenris shouted.

"They are both strong," Zevran said quietly. "Have some faith. They would not want us to go mad now, lose our temper and get reckless. This is our only chance."

Fenris pondered on it for only a second, before his face drew a sharp scowl, disgusted at himself. Frustrated to no end, that he was powerless. He sighed and walked towards Zevran, admitting within that this was their best chance to ensure everyone survived this mess.

* * *

><p>The popular school of thought among non-warriors was that two-handed longswords and greatswords were these large, clumsy, unwieldy things that knights hacked away at each other with, and that was not used with any technical finesse. That was pure bullcrap. Unless you were dead-set on going heavily on defence with a one-handed sword and a shield to use as a dignified, standalone weapon, you needed to be as quick as agile as any self-respecting rogue. Greatswords even, were simply longswords just a <em>bit <em>longer, a blade and a grip just a _bit_ longer to make the central weight point just right and easier to hold correctly. It didn't weigh more than some three, four pounds actually. And longswords, well, they weighed two pounds. Even a child could wield it, and that's what Hawke did. Understand, in the lines of Ferelden fighting tradition, longswords had the larger popularity and almost all the merits. Though still wielded two-handedly, it was lighter and much easier to learn, once any aspiring warrior grasped the pure basics.

A greatsword however, was a specialized and effective infantry weapon and although large, it wasn't as hefty as it looked. It was actually more of a longsword, while what people now called longswords were merely just medium swords that could be used with one hand with a shield or buckler. They were not called longswords just because the blade was long, but because the hilt was meant for two-handed wielding. Of course, there _were _actual, very long and heavier claymores, but they were mostly used in the first ranks of the infantry to cut down opposing pikes and hack out breaches, but more than that, they were rather impractical. Yes, they were used sometimes in battle, because they were enchanted, but still, they weren't the best.

A usual two-handed sword however, it was lethal, and its use was considered as special skill, often meriting extra pay. Once their father became weaker and the first symptoms of his illness started to emerge, he asked a friend in the army to help Hawke and Carver. Ironically enough, his name was Ser Armand. While already perfecting in the arts of two-handed longswords, Ser Armand pressed strongly that they should specialize, and if not that then simply add to their knowledge the arts of wielding claymores and greatswords. Those were the ones they were counted upon heavily in battle, apart from shielded warriors, especially among the first-line troops that were trained to stride the first enemy offences and infantry. It was not long before both siblings took up the so called greatsword that they realized it was _the one. _The simple secondary crossguard was exactly what they needed to parry effectively without getting their fingers cut off.

Well, bullshitting aside, perhaps the real story was that neither of them would give up if the other chose to learn it. They wouldn't give each other the privilege of letting one gloat over the other. Be that as it may, would it not for their frustrating need for competition, who knows? They would have ended up as poor little maidens crying for a duel, because that's how much they could bear.

Now faced with Armand, Hawke could not be more grateful that she had found one of the two-handed Ferelden swords she had brought with her that night. She was also grateful that she hadn't forgotten to take her lucky red band off her usual sword and wrap around the ring of the pommel of this one just in case she needed a miracle. She did. Dual-wielding with the other one a few hours ago, it was for show. It was impractical. This time, she needed to concentrate and she needed precision. Enough precision to intercept the whole of Armand's attacks without getting her or him killed, as much as she could. He was wielding a two-handed sword himself, clearly of Tevinter origin, clear-cut and narrowing towards the pointy end and bearing the Tevinter dragon symbols on its flat. In another more peaceful situation, she would have tackled it out of him and examined it for hours in immersed fascination. Right now, she was near the point of despair. While still bearing chainmal underneath her colourful coat, Armand had a chest plate, he had chainmal sleeves and spiky shoulder pads, knuckle-plates and sharp gauntlets. Simple luck would have it though, that her grip was longer and continued after the crossguard for the sole purpose of cleaving through armour.

Great. Now what. That was not enough.

Rather cold and impassive he was, as they circled around the barrier without striking at each other just yet. She wondered if he brutally wished he didn't have to do this. Maybe he was buying time, too. Of course, they couldn't encircle one another for ages. It built up frustration and fear inside, which didn't work in their favor once the adrenaline rush kicked in. It would make any successful strike be felt, rather than numbed out by the adrenaline, simply because of the nerve endings being so active from the annoying delay of the inevitable.

But she couldn't find it in her courage to strike. She was moving slowly, holding at the grip with her black leather gloves as her only pillar of balance. What to do? Strike first and end this misery so he'd thank her later or let him strike first and become an even colder beast named something Antivan-sounding that she forgot. Amadeus… Amadeo… Whatever. He had to snap back to reality, if he was still not just pretending. He had to.

And then it began.

She only pretended to go for a strike, getting back the sword just in time as not to bind it with his. Although taunting aside, it was enough to throw the gauntlet. Armand came at her with a 45-degree angle cutting attempt. She stepped to her right quickly and kicked her elbow in his back. Unbalanced, Armand rolled over fast and reassumed his position. She was not going to strike him even if he was exposed. She would wait for a miracle first.

Again, he came at her, attempting a vertical cut. She stopped his sword with her own horizontally, and grabbed the other end of her blade to sidestep and kick the pommel in his neck while his blade and hands were immobilized by the technique. She did so and pushed as hard as she could so it would bring him down. As he fell, she looked at him urgently and tried to say something, but no words were coming to her. Was he even trying?

She backed away and let him get up again. It seemed as though this would go on forever. Words finally came to her mouth, "We don't have to do this. We can-"

"Another word and I'll slit your throat," Armand growled quickly. What? He was battling between going serious on her and being merciful? Between Armand and Amadeo?

She didn't say another word. She simply took the offence. Going for a normal 45 strike, Armand parried with his sword half-horizontally. She instinctively grabbed the pointy end of his blade to try and disarm it completely, but she was surprised to see him brutally grabbing the end of her sword too. In a second, the inertia made her fall against his shoulder. Armand raised her sword and got his out her grip, and with her fallen against his chest, he side-stepped and pushed into her. As she fell down, she was still holding on to him and dragged him down with her, kicking him away in an instant.

Starting to bind blades, they kept their defenses going. Guarding every attack, they were simply not making other lethal attempts. He meant to scare her, that was obvious. She was doing the same thing. Harrowing as it was, she had to keep going. With another 45 cutting attempt, she blocked it with her sword, his edge ending up pushing against her crossguard. She raised the grip up, her blade reaching therefore to his neck. She meant to scare him. She didn't thrust. Armand saw this and grabbed the end and pushed it against her, the pommel ending against her head. They backed away again.

The adrenaline finally kicked in. By every second, they became more offensive, but very controlled. It seemed more like a fencing practice than an actual duel. Perhaps that's what it was. But the longer the time went, the more they were animated by their blind instinct, so the less control they had over their friendly attacks.

As the swords bumped again, she managed to deceive the length to which she wanted to strike and wounded his arm. He instead, pretended to go for a vertical cut and as she prepared to block it, he quickly redirected it horizontally and wounded her knee. As she tried to back away while holding her knee, Armand charged into her. She parried with her cross-guard again, pushing as much as she could, but Armand spun his sword over her cross-guard and they both tried instinctively to cock each other's hands and grab the other's sword. As they wrestled, Armand manage to side-step and spin around her. Behind her, still having his hand on the grip of his sword, he brought the pointy end to his other hand and held the blade at her neck. He brought her to her knees with the blade still at her neck, then got it away and attempted to thrust one-handedly. She rolled over just in time as the sword cleaved into the ground with a metallic roar. Armand growled in annoyance and walked towards her.

It was time to take a little serious offense. Armand was simply _excellent. _She needed him incapacitated, or at least wounded. If she attempted to use magic, it would be over. Avicus would call it cheating and bring both of them unconscious with some loathsome blood spell. Not that she had mana to attempt a paralysis spell anyway. That was also a problem. With all the healing she had done to Fenris and Zevran, she had only her physical strength to rely on. How long before she would go into withdrawal? She would not think about such things. Armand was coming for her.

The myth of one-hit kill was indeed, just a myth. Even if either of them managed to do some big-ass swing and cleave right through one another, there was still blood flowing and pumping in the arms to counter-attack. The other's blade would not suddenly stop because the other managed to thrust inside. The time it would take the other to get the sword back out, was also irrevocably fatal. They knew those things and that each good technique they did was not going to overpower the other. Even if Armand went for an open line, snap-cutting at Hawke's shoulder, which he did twice, it was just a simple cut and the blade would storm right back to him. It was enough to wound one another. And wounding was also enough for Hawke's adrenaline rush to make her counterattack with better precision.

As he went again, she decided to go for his armour. Half-swording was invented for a reason. They bumped swords again and she grabbed her blade halfway and thrust into his armour. As he tried to counterattack, she moved past it and inverted her sword, holding it with the grip up and the pointy end down. It would not cut through her gloves, because she knew how to hold it correctly. She hit with the hilt behind Armand's neck, and with the long guard pushing at him from behind, she brought him lower and punched him in the face effectively. Then she threw him away and reassumed her defensive position.

It would not be long until one of them wounded the other enough to drop dead.

* * *

><p>Vividly, the incandescent blue fumes coming from the lyrium markings turned pulsating black, as Fenris resisted under the magic damage of three mages hiding in a secret passage. He crushed their hearts mercilessly as Zevran incapacitated every enemy with his pretend-gauntlets hiding away perfectly sharp wrist-blades. Every time, they stripped them of their belongings in hopes they would find better weapons. Fenris did take one ghost-blade for himself, then roamed the passages again with Zevran keenly watching for any surprise attack. It was tiring, they were both weakened, but counted upon Hawke's recent healing and trusted in their adrenaline.<p>

As they came inside a room that was not there before, the silver-haired relentless Pasquale waited with two other assassins. Behind him, a passage full of cells could be seen. Just when they got in, Zevran pretend-bumped near Fenris and gave him the keys he stole from that man. It was clear what he wanted him to do.

"Still blessed by luck, I see," Pasquale said while shaking his head with hateful joy in his tone. Arms crossed, he raised his eyebrows in an unimpressed expression and hissed unemotionally, "This is the last time you fuck with me."

Zevran lowered his head in a brutally hungered look, brows joined together for the kill. He drew his blade and dagger out and said, "Then I better make it amazing."

As Pasquale and Zevran started dueling each other, Fenris thought to try out his newest addition in his weapon repertoire. With a clicking sound, the mechanism on his wrist turned and shot a blade in an assassin's shoulder. As they went for him, he turned his markings on and became difficult to hit. Evading their attacks, he grabbed one and pushed him into the other, cleaving through both of them with his sword into the wall. Then he was gone.

He rushed through the passage of empty cells and unlocked the metallic door in front of him. Behind it, there lay the real underground prison of the Crows. Cells full of bare-chested male humans and elves and some ragged-clothed females. They all rose from the ground and gave him sharp, untrusting looks as he took down the two guards.

He searched for another key as they scrutinized him in silence and went for the first door that enclosed all the other cells. As he pushed the key in, he finally said, "I am here to set you free, but my companions are in trouble. There are gondolas waiting for you above through the sewers. I just need your help first."

"Are you mad?" a bare-chested brown-haired elf said while clutching at the bars. "We're not marching into our deaths against a horde of the same people who managed to put us in here."

"Are you Crows?" Fenris asked unemotionally as he came near their cells. "All of you?"

"As far as we know," a muscular black-haired human said through the bars. "But we have no offense."

"You do know," Fenris said quickly as he opened one of the cages and gave the man a longsword. "There's plenty more where that came from. We managed to off most of the assassins the guild master brought with him."

"Still," another elf said from a cell. "You don't know half of this prison's trappings. You are a fool if you think this is going to work."

"Perhaps I should let you rot in that cage then," Fenris said angrily. "You want to be free? Come with me. If not, by all means, mumble with the rats for eternity for all I care."

"Yeah, shut your mouth Flavius. You want to die in here, fine by me, but we're going," said the black-haired hunky man. "Ricardo, Francesca, go back with Pip and strip those two numskulls of weapons. I'll go with our friend here."

As Fenris went deeper in the prison to free the others, the man shouted after him, "Wait up. Who sent you after us?"

"You have friends, apparently," Fenris said from a distance. "Know a Zevran, by any chance?"

"Well I'll be damned," the man said with a gasp and crossing his hands and shouting behind him to the others, "You hear this? Zev's _alive_."

"Santo cazzo, then how is that crazy impnot in here with us? Wait… Then that means Pasquale is here," the brown-haired elf shouted back. He gestured a punch as he bumped his fists, "I have a bone to pick with that bastard."

Fenris shouted after them, "They're in the room behind you. There is also a mage in the grand hall behind the engraved doors where my companions are in trouble." He looked around the freed people and the ones still in the cells and issued like a true general, "I need two people with me to overthrow the guards. Everyone else go into the opposite way and wait at the main door until you're at least twenty. I don't need assassins shrouded in shadows and other nonsense. I need you_ all_ to form an army."

* * *

><p>Her skin burned against the magical barrier, as Armand threw her into it. Nevermind the coat, the magic went through it like flaming spears and she fell to the ground.<p>

"Armand, snap out of this," Hawke shouted desperately as she kept rolling away and deflecting his attacks.

"Shut up," Armand hissed aggressively as he kicked her in the stomach and grabbed her throat, raising her up.

She kicked him in the knee and tried to get out. As she ran away and grabbed her sword back, Armand went after her. The wound on her leg was struck twice after that and she was losing ground. She could hear Avicus laughing hideously at the sight of their struggle.

"Do you want to die here?" Hawke screamed at him as she parried swords with him and held her defense. "Really, truly?"

Armand simply growled and attempted a spin counterattack against her parrying cross-guard to cleave into her. What was his frustration now? That he wanted to kill her so badly to be free? That he was afraid to die? That… Fuck this.

"Think of Dorian seeing you now," Hawke said quietly to him, as she blocked his attempt. She knew it was a petty way to unsettle him, but it needed to be done. If not to buy some more time, then to make him snap out of his crazed state and calm his aggression. Whatever happened after didn't matter. If he truly was going to outmaneuver her, then the battle was won and she died happily knowing he was free.

Then she saw the painful spark in his bestial eyes. The spark that changed everything, and only for a second she could see a twitch, an expression of utter sorrow, killed away instantly as Armand pressed his eyelids down shut and growled. He cocked her hands and immobilized them, pushing into her and falling down on top of her. He escaped her attempt to kick him and got up, putting a foot over her torso. She caught his sword right as he tried to cleave into her and tried to lock it in place with the whole of her force. "He's waiting for you to come home," she shouted, blood spilling out of her gloves as the edges of the sword cut the skin of her palms. "He's waiting for _Armand_ to come home."

She felt the counterforce of his sword weaken, as his face grew dimmer and unsettled, sharp eyes once looked so utterly damned, now looked punished with guilt, anguish and shock. There he stood, crucified between the two beings inside him, paralyzed in his darkest hour as he stopped pushing against the incredibly resistant force of this woman who he knew was going to let him kill her soon enough if he continued. Persecuted in his thoughts, as the stranger enveloping his mind crumbled, he swallowed heavily. Just when he was about to bring his sword out of her unyielding bloody hands, he heard a large bang on the door. Then another more powerful one, and another, until the door finally collapsed to the ground and dozens over dozens of people rushed inside and ran towards Avicus and the group of mages and assassins under his command.

Oh, this was not the time to get overwhelmed. Armand back away in surprise and Hawke took the opportunity to rise from the ground and grab her sword again. The barrier disappeared. The mage needed all his mana to defend himself.

_Perfect. _Elves and humans kept rushing in, some bare-chested, some light-armoured, some holdings daggers, some swords and some even casting spells with their bare hands. They were battling the enemy forces with every bit of strength they had, amidst the marching roars, the smoke bombs, the battle cries and … the summoned demons.

Hawke and the bewildered-looking Armand shared a quick look which meant this real duel or charade was over and they would both take advantage of this surprise battle to go in against the blasphemous creature which put them through this havoc.

Men were falling down from above, stricken by the arrows of some allies who got their hands on ranged weapons. Running through the horde, she lost Armand in the crowd and battled the shades that were coming after some bare-chested prisoners. More and more shades came roaring from the ground. This was no time for abstinent mage excuses. She punched the ground and let out massive forcewaves that struck the groups down and away from the allies. One by one, she threw fireballs into them with such quick shots, it surprised her deep into every nerve ending.

Men were going to die now. Bad men, men that wronged and tortured, men that persecuted for poor justifications. But one man in particular she needed to see gasping for air and coughing blood, see the look on his face as he drew his lost breath in deep revolt and denial… his eyes widened and protesting, cursing at her with all his putrid soul. Not tomorrow, not after years in some surprise encounter, not even soon in a few moments, no. He was going to die _now. _

She saw Zevran in a distance battling some people, but where was…?

"Beware!" she heard Fenris from behind, coming to her left and intercept a bright massive storm coming at them. He growled in pain and black fumes came out of his markings again, deflecting the spell and weakening his health. Oh no you won't…

She grabbed him by the coat and pulled him away, shouting at him to get back. When he didn't listen, she ran past him and looked in rushing anger after the mage. Killing some few shades, Avicus showed up behind one of it and she charged into him with full precision. He blocked her sword with his staff and threw her away with a forcewave. Damn the undreaded, unholy, unearthed fucking undergods. She wasn't going to fall back now. She rose from the ground and went after him again, resisting the blood spell he was casting towards her. How much time before he guessed with every bit of heath she lost her strikes became quicker and more lethal?

She hit his staff and disarmed him, throwing it away with disgust and kicked him in the stomach. Another twirl of red and black came at her and she fell on the ground trying to resist it. As instinct would now have it, violet spirit charges came out of her hands and went with full force into him. She felt every bit of life and magic force in her leave her body as she channeled it further and tried to get up from the ground. But something went wrong. Something went terribly wrong. She didn't feel her body anymore. She was on the ground again, feeling only a demonic force crushing her heart. She couldn't hear anything, not her screams, nor the battle cries of the others. She only saw a dwarven figure coming out from a wall above their heads and shooting a fire bolt in the mage's robes. She could swear, even though she couldn't hear, that she _heard _the figure scream "Hasta la vista, Manskirts McUggo!".

Time slowed and her vision came shaking, darkening. Before it became pitch-black and swallowed by the catastrophe of that Avicus drawing a dreadful smile in victory of her death and ignoring the robes that caught him in place, a sword cleaved through him with relentless force from his back. The shock paralyzed him as the sword came out and a gauntlet grabbed his shoulder.

"Blasphemer," she heard him cry with a transformed, preternatural voice. He was turning into something else.

The gauntlet turned him around and she saw Armand with the most determined and driven look in history decapitate his master with a massive blow before he turned into an abomination. So massive, so quick, so harsh the cut was – so full of vengeance – that his head flew across the room and got swallowed by the battle horde.

She felt two hands from behind grabbing her under the shoulders and raising her up. She stumbled on the floor while standing and the room was spinning with her. She saw black and grey vertical-lined pants and bare feet. She saw Armand looking petrified.

"Through that door!" she heard Zevran shouting from somewhere.

* * *

><p>The image changed instantly, my vision was crumbling. I saw dark passages, spiral stairs and eventually I saw the sky. I couldn't feel my feet, I couldn't hear much, but we were running across the roofs, <em>all <em>of us. I heard something about gondolas, but not much else.

As we ran above the fullness of a violet sky, looking out at the wild grass beneath the roofs, flowing in the summer wind, for the first time in a long time, I felt a terrible longing for the sun. I didn't dare say anything to my companions about it however. After all, how many blessings can a being want? We were free, we were alive.

The air was cool and full of the scent of spring flowers. I could hear the nightingale singing. And far off the whisperings and murmurings of the great crowded city of Antiva. I turned my eyes towards the city. I saw her seven hills covered over with soft flickering lights. I saw the clouds above, tinged with gold, as they bore down on these scattered and beautiful beacons, as if the darkness of the sky were full with child.

I was still not myself, however. Everything spun around and hit me in the head. I blacked out so many times. I heard Fenris screaming angrily at me to stop. I remember I healed someone. Maker's breath, the images changed so quickly. One second we were on a roof, another one we were on the ground, running and running. Another time I saw dark shadows chasing after us. Another, I saw gondolas full of people marching in the distance across the green canals. I remember almost falling into the water. I remember someone dragging me back by the coat.

I heard Zevran saying Pasquale was not dead and he needed to flee the city as soon as he could. I heard Varric shouting in distress that we should stop and hide somewhere so I can come to my senses. I saw Armand full of grief and not saying anything.

I also felt hands clutching at me and redirecting my trajectory as we were running. It seemed my soul was a pendulum that swung between the hearty pleasure of conquest and running faster than my companions and the swooning surrender to stronger limbs, and stronger wills, and stronger hands that tossed me desperately about and telling me I was not alright. That I was weak and fainting, that I had lost all reserves. I heard Fenris cursing in his mother tongue again, over and over again.

Above, the silent clouds thickened, curled and sailed across the darkling sky. The rain came, its soft roar lost in the cries of people running, in the crackle of fire and the torrent of some drums nearby. I heard it and I let myself run through the damp air and received it, the silvery rain floating down to me like the blessing of the dark Antivan heavens, the baptismal waters of the damned.

I understood these images, even as they froze my soul. My head swam and the heat of the city at dawn and it made me sick in my stomach.

Then I saw a figure. A red-headed elven figure fully armoured in Warden regalia, a large griffon emblazoned upon the chest plate, going around a corner. I sought to run after it, my soul full of hope and drive to reach her. I heard my companions scream after me, but I couldn't help it. I jumped on the high fences of the garden I saw the Warden in and ran and ran and ran.

Life was no longer a theatrical stage where the Warden's ghost came again and again to seat herself at the grim table next to other figures I wanted to live up to. She was there and I had to catch her if it killed me.

My soul hurt, that I would not manage to reach her.

And then I woke up in some brothel…


	18. All Is Violent

So anyway, I woke up in the brothel and –

**You are **_**not**_** telling this story.**

Back off, Fenris. You might still be angry, but I came with the idea _first _to barge into the story.

**I don't care. Your vision of how things went is corrupted and you're ruining it.**

You mean I'm ruining _your_ reputation of being such a good and fine lad.

**Hawke.**

Yes, Fenris?

**Get out of this narration. I am not going to repeat myself.**

Psht. You already did! And I don't care one bit for your threats, Sir. I am telling this story!

**You are like a child.**

Fenris… with every time you say that comes this extremely disturbing image to every reader that you are a paedophile.

…

Yeah, _now _you get it.

**I am not.**

You sound like one.

_**You**_** are putting this image in their minds.**

And I'll keep putting it if you don't let me take over this narration.

**Vishatta. Where is that damned author when you need them.**

Obviously drunk out of their mind in a gutter somewhere.

**That is **_**you,**_** Hawke… And that's exactly why you shouldn't be telling this story.**

…

…

Hey, behind you! A giant fish!

… Alright, he's gone now.

* * *

><p>So anyway… as I was saying. I went out of the brothel, remembering all of this.<p>

Nighttime, was it? Staying near the inn with a very long name… _Casa della libertà eterna e gli eroi sacri del nostro paese_ or something like that. Yes, yes that was it. I can't believe I remembered it. I had no idea what it meant.

_Shit. _Shit, shit, utter damned sodding shit. I hallucinated the Warden and ran from my group. How could I be so… out of my mind. Maybe I was obsessed. At least I knew now that I was in mana withdrawal. I couldn't remember how I got to the brothel however, but it didn't matter anymore. What mattered was that it was night again, which meant I had disappeared for at least a day… and I was screwed. Oh, I was going to get killed. Only thing that I wondered was who would get to me first – Varric or Fenris.

WHY. Why would I… Ah.

I couldn't concentrate, I knew I had to get up and right into the inn. I stumbled heavily and held onto the walls, went for the stairs and almost fell on myself and rolled all the way back. Fortunately somehow, every stranger ignored me. I made haste and went straight for the first room I remembered was inhabited by a companion of mine.

I spun around, or the hallway did, and when I opened my eyes again I stood in a familiar room. Long red curtains settled in front of me. It was warm here. In the shadows I saw the glinting outline of a silver greatsword.

"Fenris!" I said in fear and revulsion, that I should come like this into his room, without so much as a word after my impertinent disappearance.

The cold wind swept into the room from the open window before he slammed it shut, such a fearless creature, and he reached out with unerring accuracy, raising the wick of a nearby lamp. The flame rose and I saw Fenris in his old armour, staring at me in terror and anger, as I had probably left him for days in my giant gap of time.

His dark, haunted face was quick with questioning and alarm and he rushed towards me with a piercing scowl, only to stop because I very much did the same thing. I rushed forward, but only to be stopped brutally by his right hand, and with his left he took a hold of my face with such firmness it almost frightened me. He rested this hand on me as if either he was going to quickly behead me or he were a priest giving a blessing.

"Kevesh," Fenris swore bestially, squeezing at my arm as if to viciously crush it. "Festis bei umo canavuram."

I breathed heavily, still taken aback by his sudden outburst of brutality and in-between panting I frowned and said, "I- I… what?"

"It means," Fenris pressed aggressively, "You will be the death of me."

"Such rude necessity, Sir, all of it," I said unperturbed. "What choice after all did I have?" How brave he must have thought me to be, to stare into the eyes of the tiger, strong like fine silver suffused with steel and _reckless_ like poking a dragon with a large bat, for making such a mocking statement even now. "Call me your oppressor all you want, I am not threatened."

Fenris scowled at me and quickly growled, then with the colossal little frown I had always found so fiercely provoking, he sharply contoured every word, "I am growing so viciously tired of your constant need for mockery." He let go of my hand, more so, shoved my hand down and let go as if it were nothing. I turned my head in confusion, but didn't yield to his barbaric shouts. In between so, I quickly forgot why I was even here.

"I do not mean to mock," I almost shouted desperately. "And being overly dramatic really doesn't suit you, Fenris."

His fierce eyes remained fixed and tense. He reached out to me again, cruelly taking me by the elbows and turning me around to throw me on the bed. So savage was he, that my head recoiled ever deeper against the headboard, my hand only vainly reaching out for the crimson red drapery as if that could save me. "You will tell me where you've been," Fenris commanded me mercilessly with dark narrowed eyes and in a fit of murderous rage to mask his concern. My instincts could only fight him back, but he shoved me back on the bed with no mercy and I hit my head against the pillow with eyes tightly shut.

"Tell me when you're done killing me," I said confidently, in-between the pain. "Then maybe I can tell you, if you still have the courtesy to leave me alive for a few more seconds. At least to make a list of my last regrets on my deathbed, no pun intended."

"Oh, I can think of a few regrets you will so desperately wish to amend for after I strangle you to death," Fenris growled cold-bloodedly as he grabbed me by the throat with no seeming bit of pity.

"Perhaps we can make it a sex bed, then? To amend for one of my last regrets?" I played sarcastically with a grin, because for some cruelly dumb reason, that was my nature, even while staring death right in the eye.

Fenris sighed violently through his flared nostrils. "You are the Fiend from Hell itself," he whispered harshly.

"Then let me go," I demanded commandingly, looking straight into his bloodthirsty green eyes, "You don't want to hurt me."

"Like hell I don't," he shouted deeply and his lyrium markings starting glowing blue.

I widened my eyes and quickly caught his scowling face in my hands, "I'm sorry, this was unworthy of me, please calm down," I pleaded with control, soothing his face as I did so.

"Liar," Fenris hissed at me. "You're never sorry. You lie through your teeth like a –"

"A viper?" I asked confidently, but with deep control, "Yes, a viper I am so. And I am at your mercy."

"Don't mock me," Fenris growled heartlessly and shoved my hands away from his glowing face.

"I am saying the truth," I said calmly. "If you wish to kill me for that, have at it. I am content and a bit proud that my death will be at your hand."

"So very poetic, is it not?" Fenris said ruthlessly as he sunk his spikes in my throat. "So fitting."

Too much of a rush came upon me, the sounds grew deaf and I flinched and inhaled quickly. "Snap out of it! This isn't you, Fenris."

"I wish it weren't, but it is," he said in bitter anger. "I so wish it weren't so."

I shut my eyes tight and put a hand over his throbbing chest, then opened them in pain with fear bulging out of them as I started trembling so violently. He felt my terror spasms under him, maybe even my honest, but in his eyes, petty attempt to reach out for his cold heart. Then as if struck by lightning, the lyrium glow faded away and suddenly his face changed entirely, replaced by one of utter astonishment and sorrow on his part. "I-… I'm so sorry."

I sighed in relief within and caught him by the back, wrapped my arms around him and made him fall on me, his head over my shoulder breathing monstrously. I could have sworn for a moment I heard him make some strange, weeping or gasping sound, but I didn't really hear it properly. No, maybe it was all in my head. Regardless, I pressed tightly with him in my arms and with one hand reached for his soft, messy hair. "It's alright. Calm down."

"I'm so sorry," he kept whispering hoarsely. "Forgive me, Hawke, forgive me."

"I forgive you," I said firmly and brushed my fingers in his hair reassuringly. "But it was my fault."

"No," he hissed through his teeth. "No."

"Yes," I contradicted harshly. "Yes, I provoked you. I should never have done it and we both know it."

"No," he pressed as his self-loathing voice whispered in my ear.

For a long time, I said nothing. I merely held him as tight as I could for fear he would break. Only gradually did I realize I was frightened. For one moment it seemed that fear would obliterate the warmth of the moment, the soft glory of the radiant light swelling in the curtains, of the polished plains of his face and his ivory hair, the sweetness of his scent on me. Then some higher, graver concern overruled the fear.

His skin was very hot, and I knew in an instant his mind had stroke the fever.

I could see now it was hopeless. His mind would never be opened, never truly changed. I him brought to me and laid him down on the pillows once more and sought to better understand what I could. His had been a punitive world of austere devotion. Living, fighting, breathing, for him, had been joyless. And indeed all of life itself in far-away Tevinter had been so rigorously cruel that he could not give himself over to the pleasure that awaited him now at every turn. Or to the simple fact that was indeed, just a good man.

He was silent but I knew he was thinking. I turned and tried to read his mind. It seemed chaotic, and full of wandering thoughts and guilt. He was a warrior almost entirely at the mercy of those who took him, but he had made himself supreme by virtue of the particularities that I cherished in his way of doing things. He was never one to take delight in killing. He was never one to cherish the death of others, unless of course they were truly evil. Even in the face of the Arvaraad who wanted to kill Ketojan, a mage of all things, he intervened and screamed that they had their captive and there was no need to kill him. Nowhere were his talents more fully expressed than in battle and he knew this though he couldn't put it into words. He thought hard on how to tell me about his way of discharging of fear or hate, but he simply couldn't do it. And I would not press him. It would be a wicked thing to do.

With him was an easy intimacy which he had denied all those who had tormented him, so dazzled and confused was he by my simple kindness, and the words I whispered in his tender ears. I brought him quickly to know the pleasures which he had never allowed himself before. He was dazed and silent; but his prayers for deliverance were no more. Yet even here in the safety of this bedroom, in the arms of one he came to see as his equal, nothing of his old memory could move from the recesses of his mind into the sanctum of reason. Indeed, perhaps these frankly carnal embraces made the wall in his mind, between past and present, all the more strong.

How can I describe him? His beauty did not depend on his facial expression. It was stamped already on the face and in his soul. It was all wrought up with his fine bones, serene mouth, and his messy white hair. And he's had no experience with it except in cruelty. In Fenris, I saw the sunny skies of the northern wilderness, eyes of steady radiance which rejected any outside color, perfect portals to his own most constant soul.

As for this soul, his soul, there were simply so many words one just couldn't bind to him and _that _could be it. No, he was so inconceivably different than anything and anyone I had ever known, that I found myself taken aback and immersed into his words and perspective in such a ravishing, effortless way, it felt almost unnatural, simply because it was natural.

Yet in his mind, unbeknownst to the others in any material way, Fenris perceived himself, at least how I felt it, at my behest, as secretly belonging to me. It was for me a great and terrible contradiction. For him no doubt as well. I feared and feared, day after day, that his mind would become overwhelmed with such shocks that his soul couldn't take them and I was right, because I could see the weakness in his eyes, desperate and striving to deny me, to annul me as if to make me a little point in the air and crush it. He did not mean to hurt me, he did not mean to kill me. He meant to annul me. Because I had struck such great fear and concern in him with my disappearance and all I could account for was how much of a comedian I could be in such inappropriate moments. I regretted it as soon as I realized it, but it was natural to me to defend myself through such acts, as his was to convert his fear into anger. And such a grand fear this was, I could see it now.

A cruel fancy of love – it involves the cruel thought of killing the object of love, so that it may be removed once and for all from the mischievous play of change. For love is more afraid of change than of destruction.

As for me, I had never experienced such pure intimacy with someone, except with those I meant to kill. It gave me chills to have my arms around this man, Fenris, to press my lips to his cheeks and chin, his forehead, his tender closed eyes.

I loved him instantly and impossibly from about the time before we went into the Deep Roads, I had to admit.

I grabbed him firmly and pulled him up and away from me, giving him an angry look. "I DID MOCK YOU. I _am _the Fiend from Hell itself. I'm a big fucking bitch, is what I am. Understand?"

He panted and looked at me with half-closed eyelids, then finally said in a deep voice, "You said it, not I."

"Good," I approved confidently. "Now that we've established that, how about we calm ourselves down?"

But his face was still dark and haunted, his body was trembling heavily next to me and I thought he would break right then and there. I couldn't take the sight, and quickly dragged him back into my arms, holding him tight, to which he did not oppose. He needed time to cool off from this sudden outburst of converted hostility. But I knew it in my heart that he would never do it. If only he could see it too, between the terror I'd caused him, and for him to become. I saw my blunder, my utter stupidity in my ways, and regretted it deeply. Yes, on my sudden deathbed, I had one clear regret now that pierced me like spears, but I had to stay strong, for him.

His breathing was heavy and he was somber. He shivered still, and when his hand found me it was unsteady.

I turned him to the side and lied on my own side too, still embracing him protectively and he quickly, as like a child in terror, clutched at my back and buried his face against mine as our foreheads bumped and his heavy breathing blew heat on my chin. I didn't know what to say, but wasn't my act enough, perhaps? I still felt the need to say something.

His dark eyes pierced at me pleadingly to forgive him again, so I sighed in annoyance, for I felt as if I was deliberately trying to calm a hysterical child. Vividly remembering the shadowy outlines of his face as he would contain his smile whenever I would say a joke, as well as his persecuted face as he sometimes looked like he wanted to say something, but killed the thought in his mind and went on just to listen to me, not to mention the times when I would lash out in my anger and tell him I wanted to die because I was so sick of being a mage and I would see his controlled discomfort, appearing as if he was ready to slap me… well… I buried his face against my chest. "It's alright. I promise you, I'm not mad. I understand and I know you would have never done it."

He didn't answer. He didn't agree with me.

"I know you won't listen to me, but it needs to be said," I said firmly, brushing his soft and overgrown hair. "You're not a beast. You are _not_."

"Oh, but I am," Fenris whispered bitterly. "I am my master's creation."

"Former master," I pressed insistently. "Former."

"It doesn't matter," Fenris whispered in a soft voice, and I felt his head shaking in refusal at my chest.

I sighed in desperation. "Dear lunatic, please pay attention. It does. It does and I see it," I pressed in frustration and squeezed at him tightly. "You're not a bestial creation." I shut my eyes forcefully and kissed his forehead. "You are Fenris."

My chest pulsated as he chuckled against it. "That's exactly it," he said with a dark voice, ignoring my affection. "Fenris, the wolf. Fenris – the parvus lupus who knows nothing but how to take a life and is all the more dangerous because he knows he will not die."

I didn't know how to plead more than that because he was not so. As if I had to graphically bleed my heart out for him to understand such simple words, to show him how wrong he was. I quickly remembered something Father pestered me with, thank the gods for his soul. I searched my mind for words I had learned from him in Tevene so the sentence would be all the more impacting, words propelled out of the forgotten present, "Lupus non mordet lupum."

He paused his loathing in an instant. Utter, soul-breaking silence. Then he lifted his head up to look at me in awe. "A wolf does not kill a wolf," he translated instinctively in terror, more for himself. "How did you-"

"You didn't know me when I was younger," I said honestly. "I would lash out in blind rage at my failures, ready to snap my Father's throat. He'd say that to me every time, - not in Tevene - instead of disarming me, to train my control. And I would calm down."

He raised his head to catch my eyes. He locked those persecuted green eyes on me and listened to me quietly, "People such as you and I, while their burden of conscience is terrible and their mind might seem wolfishly cruel and depraved, they are afraid to be kind. And they are afraid to receive kindness, just as well. We are not meant to be loners, Fenris, as natural as it seems, we are not meant to go through it alone. Just as the lone wolf hunts in the night, but cannot truly survive without its pack. "

He looked at me with a sorrowful frown, then shut his eyes tight. I caught his face and stroked it gently, "You can ramble all you want that you are what that son of a bitch made you, but you are not. I see it in you, every day, as I watch you – I watched you grow by my side, by _our _side, and you've indeed grown so much and well. Much more than I can say for myself," I said bitterly and looked away for a second, but turned my eyes back to him, who seemed to be breaking inside. I pressed further, "You are immensely good-hearted and I dare even say, selfless sometimes. Trust my words, I am not lying to you. I never did. You are a good man."

I could see a short sigh of relief within his eyes, that he did not dare to express on the outside. He looked sad, glanced just for a second at the our swords leaning against the wall. Finally, he almost whispered, in a deep voice, "You are terribly kind." I gave him a broad smile and watched his wondering eyes. "For someone who almost had you at their mercy, for me who was on the verge of bringing you untimely death."

"I would not let that happen," I said firmly. "But I sought to show you just how much I trust you, deliberately stripping myself of all defences."

He shook his head bitterly, "You're so deeply, terribly crazy, Hawke."

He trembled, fearing to let go of me, his head hanging heavily, his luxuriant hair soft against my hands.

"I am what I am," I said in amusement. "I am evil, yes. Yes, I am."

"You are quite the contrary," he said almost warmly, finally, _finally, _giving me a short, painful smile. "Why do you let me do this to you, Hawke?" he whispered with deep sorrow in his breath. "I can't-"

"Because I'm the only one crazy lunatic who can bump horns with you and resist," I said firmly. "And what doesn't kill you, just as well, what _you don't _and can't kill, only makes you stronger."

And it was true. I had made it my unconscious duty ever since that first night in the courtyard, to bump heads with him whenever he wanted to, because we both knew I wouldn't disappoint him. He could ramble, scream, howl, call me names. It didn't ultimately matter, because I was offering him support either way. I didn't want to make it my mission to demonstrate I was not like the mages he was accustomed to and I didn't want to impress him. The jokes, the rants, the arguments, they were personality-driven and quite frankly, they never had anything to do with mages. However, he did listen to me and my theories, just as I offered to listen to him. Taking him seriously was just the first step, the second being not to try to prove myself, but simply go on and show him I welcomed him in my world without much thought that he hated my kind. I didn't need to prove myself, but he needed proof that I could be trusted. So I did that. As in, nothing.

His eyes filled with gratitude, "I can't… I can't thank you enough."

I snorted. "Oh, pssht. It's my pleasure to face you and make you discharge of all this hate."

"Without even the faintest chance of giving up," Fenris finished with a soft, kind-hearted smile.

"Take it out on me, I don't mind," I said confidently. "A worthy opponent, that just turned out to be my dearest friend," I said warmly, stroking his cheek, then corrected myself, "With whom I don't want to sit in these horizontal positions every now and then without _thanking _him."

He turned and took me in his powerful and ever careful embrace.

He laid his head against my head, and he held tight to me. "I don't deserve you, Hawke," Fenris said hoarsely, looking sorrowful with his green eyes onto mine.

How knowing, how clever was his expression! HOW full of secret triumph he seemed suddenly in his silence and patience, because I didn't fear him. How utterly damned.

I shook my head disapprovingly. "What a modest idiot you are."

He grinned at me ever so warmly with fierce determination, "If you grant me this honor, I will be your modest idiot," then quickly said in a deep voice without further ado, "I am yours."

My eyes flinched, but I didn't hesitate at his honest demand. Such a firm statement, and much to really take remark on, for possessive terms one would never expect from a former slave. There were no words. No, no words in the world could describe this, so I didn't make use of any.

Although, I do believe I hesitated, but that I don't recall. What is vivid still is that we stood there in peace and that, though I failed myself morally, I did not fail him at all. I did not fail the two of us as a woman and a man who could strip almost whole of their soul to each other in their curious friendship, expressing hidden vulnerabilities _almost _without effort, and there was afterwards both a drowsiness and a sense of exultation that left no room for shame.

Though I remember… I smiled warmly, and in the most common human way he lowered his eyes as he did, and he smiled too. His generous lips parted, and I saw last only that hauntingly beautiful smile of his. He put his hands beneath my arms, lifted me and kissed my lips, and the shivers paralyzed me. I clung to his shoulder and kissed him back. There was a stronger, more virile intimacy due to my crude act of hours or days ago. I closed my eyes and felt his fingers on top of them, and heard him say into my ear, "Sleep as I take you home."

* * *

><p>Ok… maybe he didn't say that. I think it's high time I left this scenery though, for I made abuse of my first-person narrative privileges and I think I got the story a bit not that correct on that last part. Don't blame me, I'm so out of it!<p>

**I **_**told **_**you that you would ruin it. **

Oh, hey… uh… where did you come from? Finally caught that fish?

**That is none of your business.**

Let me guess… someone's grumpy again.

**How can I not be? Look at what you did. Sleep as I take you home… who in the Void says that?**

You did say that once… I think … just not this time. Ugh! Sue me, I can't put everything in the right place.

**Thank the Maker you stopped. Who knows what other theatrical abomination of words your highly disturbed imagination might have spewed in between those "heartbreaking" monologues.**

Bugger off, Fenris. They needed to understand my way of thinking.

**Your way of thinking…? Bah. What does it matter if you use **_**I **_**or **_**she**_**?**

… Exactly.

… **Not to interrupt your charming arguments but, we are kind of having a moment here.**

Right.

* * *

><p>When she smiled, it ended all misery. The thought of her slipping out of his hands again was no more, as she peered into his eyes with such sweet frankness that she became irresistible to him. She wrapped her arms around him and he lifted her back up with haste to kiss her. As she did so, Fenris desperately wanted to tell her everything; he felt it was his duty now to come clean about his demons and regrets he had never forgotten. He needed to tell her. She of all people was wholeheartedly there for him and deserving to know of <em>everything. <em>But her kiss was so firm and willing, he gave in to his weaker senses and grabbed her face with strong warmth. He kissed her with the whole of his heart and soul. Nothing in the world could stop him from loving her. He didn't care for the word though; it was much more of an immense feeling than that, one that would linger undying forever, as far as he was concerned.

There was a great noise around them, as of the flapping of the wooden doors and of draperies billowed and snapped. The colder air coming from the window that magically opened on its own surrounded them. He set her down. He could hear the water of the canal near them, lapping, lapping, as the summer wind stirred it and drove the sea into the city, and he could hear a wooden boat knocking persistently against a dock.

He let slip his fingers, and she opened her eyes as he lay on top of her, watching. How graceful she was, how devoid of pride and bitterness. How these horrors were cast aside.

She slipped her arm around his neck and kissed his forehead. He kept his eyes on her. The pleasure moved all through him, and helpless, he let the air escape his lips in a rosary of sighs.

He wanted to kiss her again as he had done the very first time in the common room of her mansion. No more angry intents, no more sudden drive out of displaced feelings or some battle to see who gives in first. He had her there under the wholeness of his strong physique like any common man overshadowing a fragile woman in the firmness of his hold. Quietly, he lowered his head and placed his lips onto hers, moving them softly only to the limit of her permissions. At least for a while, they would have been enough. As though accepting that concealed ardent moving of his lips, she bit them playfully. A moment he paused, inhaling quickly like a saint pondering and crucified between peace and temptation. But just for a moment. He rose decisively, throwing his gauntlets away without a care and turned his eyes back to her all alight with fire. He needed to feel her whole. He came back down, brushing his fingers against her face. Locking it into his gentle grasp, he slipped his tongue into her mouth. She could feel his fingers burning against her cheek. And there came the old rampant shower of his kisses, not the mock of a passionate man, but his affection, petal soft, so many tributes laid upon her face and hair. She loved his way of coming off softly and ending up more stronger with affection, feeling him tremble, feeling him thrill to it, feeling him shudder, feeling him whip the threads from inside her soul, quickening her heart and making her nearly cry out, feeling him love it, and stiffen his back and let his fingers tremble and dance as he writhed against her.

It seemed he was quite undecided as to what to do. But then she saw his seemingly thoughtful face grow blank with hunger. She watched him with the back of her eye, losing all the grace of a contemplative elf, appearing to be driven and close his lips against her neck. No glimpse of teeth, no moment of cruelty. Merely a calm final kiss.

Fenris suddenly saw himself as if in a smoky mirror, no longer a boy clumsy and fearful, but more a man who knew exactly what to do. Seated on the pillows under him, he rushed to prove the honesty of his statement, displaying his unreserved affection with this curious drive that he had thought so many times in the past he would never bear or allow. Let alone to be touched, no. This he thought he'd never do. But now he was ever ready to be completely aroused by her tender lips and her small graceful white hands.

Up around his neck, she slipped her arms. He enjoyed that little feeling, that she needed to hold on to him for safety. She saw a delighted grin painting up on his face, as he leant his weight against her and kissed her reddening cheeks, and then her tender throat, and caught her girlish smile and gleaming glance as she played on, her head tilting back to brush against his hair. He was thinking, would he have even dared. He felt her shoulders moving against his snug embrace with her darting fingers. Only in whisper-soft tones with sealed lips could he ask her of more. Though is mind and his mouth were in control, his body was not. Suddenly rushing, he clasped her waist. She gasped quickly and her breath stopped, understanding that his body was surely demonstrating the urgency that it had had with her in the past. He wanted to touch her all over, as a blind man might touch a sculpture, the better to see each curve of her with his hands.

She reached for the back of his neck, held his head as firmly as she could. She stopped him in place and snapped him out of his maddened state of passion. Only in a whisper he seemed to growl in annoyance and watched her. Hawke's mouth remained open but words didn't seem to propel out of this forgotten present.

"I don't want to do this now, in this way," she finally said, as if frightened, but firm in her statement.

Fenris almost stopped his breathing and stood there paralyzed rising only on his arms and still on top of her, seeming as though he realized something as he snapped out of his passionate drive. "Neither do I," he almost whispered before he finally breathed again.

He broke loose and lay to the side.

Hawke rose on her elbows and looked at him anxiously, as he brushed his hair away from his forehead and lay there as if he was embarrassed by himself. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not," Fenris fired back calmly, turning his head on the pillow to look at her.

He rose quietly and sat on the edge of the bed, pondering something. Then he looked to his left and came up completely to sit at the table near the window.

Hawke came up too and approached him quietly from behind, catching the ends at the back of his hair. "Your hair is longer."

"Is it? I haven't noticed," Fenris said calmly, playing with the blank pages of the journal on the table.

"You know long hair doesn't really suit your nose," Hawke said in a warm tone, playing childishly with his hair.

"I thought I'd cut it all off," Fenris replied with a hint of discomfort in his sighs.

"Nonsense," she fired back. She went for her old sword that leaned on the wall next to his. She stopped and looked at it as if something was wrong.

Vishatta. Where did he put it…

He looked into his pocket and sighed in relief within that he hadn't lost the red band. As Hawke turned back to look at him, he held her lucky charm with a raised hand a chivalrous nod, "I found myself in need of luck."

"Did it work?" she asked with a silvery grin, grabbing her sword and the ribbon to wrap it around the ring of her pommel again.

Fenris smiled shortly. "It seems that way."

"Well now," she said confidently and put the sword back next to his. "Don't they look positively charming like that."

"I meant to ask you," Fenris said calmly, as she came back behind his chair and drew out a knife.

"What did you want to ask me?" Hawke smiled as she started cutting the overgrown ends of his fastidiously white hair.

He played with the pages again, letting her cut the hairs with no protest. "Does it have a name?"

"My sword?" she asked. "Why would you think it does?"

"You seem like a Qunari with your sword. In fact, save for this particular incident, I have never seen you part with it."

She chuckled in approval, "I bet you wanted to throw it in the gutter when I went all crazy runaway clown mage."

He grinned shortly, "For a few seconds, it made all the sense in the world that I should do so. But then again, if I did, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Because I would have been the one to turn crazy homicidal? Yes, you are quite right about that."

Seconds passed in the quiet wind, but he didn't want to let himself go in the soothing trance she was putting him in. He pressed, "So what is her name?"

"What makes you think it's a _her_?" she mused lightly.

"Isn't that the usual way one addresses to a sword?"

"I wouldn't know. I don't talk to mine," she said in amusement. "But I guess I understand. The narrow blade, the sharpness of the edges, the technical finesse and agility one requires to wield it."

"And do not forget the grace with which one should strike," Fenris said.

"But I should forget that they're phallic-shaped objects which men like to compensate with?" Hawke chuckled. "Seems to me swords are simply hermaphrodites. Agility aside, you need strength. Add that to the equation and what do you get?"

"Well we won't know until you say what it is called," Fenris mused back.

She sighed in amusement, "Fine. I call it Red Rain. Rayne, for short."

Fenris quickly chuckled. "Why? Is it raining blood?"

"You might think that, but no. Thought I'd put together my two favorite things in the world."

"So that's why you like to make it rain," he said, more for himself.

She went in front of him to shorten his bangs and examined his face. "Shocking, right? You thought there'd be more theatrics to the tale."

"I was hoping for some, regrettably," Fenris said calmly, trying not to flinch as she trimmed the front of his hair.

"Well, did you get to name your sword?"

"I haven't thought about it."

She grinned. "Think now."

He looked away and pondered on it. "Hm. This will sound foolish."

"What can sound dumber than Red Rain?" Hawke asked in amusement.

Fenris arched his eyebrow. "Gwendolyne, for instance."

"Gwedolyne?"

"I named my old sword for Varric's amusement."

Hawke laughed and went back behind him to finish up. "Well, be serious this time, dear man."

"Alright… Let's see," Fenris said and pondered on it for a while. He smiled shortly and sighed, "The Sword of Truth and Roses."

"For the Knight of Roses… and truth, apparently. Good choice," Hawke said in amusement. "Might not want to tell Varric though, else he'll never stop with the 'He's a tiger in heat with a rose in his teeth' jokes."

"You're right. I trust that you shall keep my secret," Fenris pretended innocently.

"You're secret's safe with me, oh mighty Calenhad," she said mockingly. "This asks for a quick baptism."

"With wine I hope. I'm not eager to spill any other red liquid anymore," Fenris said with a grin.

Hakwe sighed. "Ah, you're no fun."

"I think that's for the best," he said with a little smile.

As she finished cutting his hair, bringing back to its original length, she put the knife back in her pocket and ran her fingers through his hair to tidy it up. "There you go. Now you're pretty."

"What a relief," Fenris replied grumpily. "Now maybe the mirror won't break when I look into it."

"Well, let's try out the theory. Don't look at me like that, get up." She grasped his hand and dragged him to the high mirror behind them.

He flinched when he saw himself in the mirror. Flinched. He appeared to look at himself curiously as he stood there with Hawke behind him letting out her childish grin. For a moment, it seemed as though he was trying to capture that image in its fullness and preserve it. Perhaps he went through too many shocks these past few days and was not all that eager to ignore the possibility of loss.

He indulged himself then. He took full measure of their portrait, other images propelled out of time. He saw the components in him as a man: an immense soul, fearless, yet half in love with despair. Perhaps that is what she saw in him that first night in the courtyard. Without trying, she had given him her courage, her cleverness, her cunning and her honesty; perhaps she managed to transport an armory for him through their endless battle of wits. A mage of all things… She had done well. Her strength was complex and obvious. It was this first issue he took up with Hawke, his curiosity overwhelming him, for to scan the world for knowledge is often to rake in such tragedy that he abhorred it. He banished all this. He focused his gaze only on her beautiful tapering eyes.

She studied him, not suspiciously but in fascination, as she stood quiet behind him in front of the mirror. Mesmeric, but tired green eyes, skin slightly tanned from his travels, fastidious white hair stripped away of its natural colour, but still – it gave him a strange appearance of a "bad boy" in an intellectual way. He looked too serious for his frequently sarcastic demeanour. But the contrast it made with the green of his eyes and the black of his armour brought more focus and life to every short grin or grumpy face he made. It shed more light onto his rarely-changing expressions. It made them rich expressions.

He studied her too. Her clownish red hair gave her an aura of irresistibility. Of strength and cleverness, doubled upon by her general feistiness. Her lips were not rouged in any vulgar manner but deeply rosy by nature, and her long lashes looked like the points of stars around her radiant brave-child eyes. Somehow it was perfect, this portrait. Somehow the Maker did have a good sense of humor, wedding them to one another intentionally, to teach each other what trust meant, and the difference between good and evil in all forms. That they lay beyond that difference.

They held to a way of life which did not involve rituals, prayers, magic, well, not superficial sorceries. Virtue was embedded in character. That was the inheritance of true warriors, which Fenris and Hawke shared.

* * *

><p><strong>May I take over? <strong>

May I punch you in the face?

**Changing pronouns did not really help. Let me take over for a moment. **

Why? You're not angry anymore.

**And you're not drunk anymore. Let me take over. **

Bah. Fine.

**How come you yielded so easily?**

Thought I'd take Zevran's advice and let you be right once in a while. You know, so you won't cry inside like a little snowflake.

**Remind me again why I fancy you. Right now nothing comes to mind. Perhaps because of the irritating noise that makes up the whole of your persona.**

Because… I'm delightful? … Fenris? Hello? … Where did you – Oh damn you.

* * *

><p>But she'd already gone deep into her own thoughts. I couldn't bear the invisible barrier she had set between us. I turned away rapidly, undeterred, lifting her hands until she stood beside me, and then I took her warmly into my arms. I kissed her lips, her old familiar perfume rising to my nostrils, and I kissed her forehead. And then I held her head tightly against my beating heart. For several long moments we remained locked together, and I covered her hair with small sacred kisses, her perfume crucifying me with memories. I wanted to endow her with protection against all things as sordid as myself. She backed away from me, finally, as if she had to do it, and she was a little unsteady on her feet.<p>

I felt a wave of my own anguish of the long night before, when the utter vacuity of all religions and creeds could not help me as I waited and waited and flinched at the sight of every woman walking down the streets below. It struck me hard, that I couldn't find her, and the sheer effort of a good life seemed a fool's trap, and nothing more.

To see her now, alive and here with me, it gives architecture to a trivial moment, and seems so dire a confession. The words came out of my mouth with no reserve, "Trust in me, and I shall see that you never come to harm."

Hawke suddenly closed her arms around me, surprising me, holding me firmly and rubbing her cheek gently against my hair, and kissing my head. Silken, polished, gentle beyond words. She rested her head against my shoulder. "Fenris," she said. "There's no need to make haste with such promises."

I broke into laughter, rather than anger. "Hawke, you're deliberately taunting me. Why? Why do you do this?" I asked, as she lifted her head and finally looked at me.

"Now why do you ask questions you already know the answer to!" she said confidently, giving me a little smile. Why tell me and spoil all the fun. Of course. I held this hard effigy of the most spectacular and singular woman I had ever known or seen: I held it and this time heard the beating of her heart, the distinct rhythm of it. She was never one to put her trust in people who lived beside her only half-heartedly. She welcomed people, but did not truly let them in, not carelessly, not blindly. Ah, damnable little woman, seeing right through me, through my reserved and private anguish. Hers was perhaps bigger, barricaded by her confidence, her bone-hard posture and words. But how would I know? It would have spoiled all the fun.

"You are infuriating," I said rather calmly.

"Oh, I am," she laughed. "Maybe now you wish I had made that stunt proposal in front of my mother so you'd be forced to marry me and I would be forced to be stuck with you."

"No doubt if I had, you would have put me in an early grave," I said in amusement. "I would have been spared of all this."

"All of what?" she asked.

I shook my head and broke into soft laughter, only faintly touching her cheek and pulling away. "Never mind."

I went by the window and gazed at the midnight violet sky. "Oh, how spectacular is the simple night," I said.

"Do go on," she said, coming beside me. "I can never turn down a chance to hear your internal monologues."

"They're not very impressive," I murmured grumpily.

"I don't think you intend them to be," Hawke mused beside me. "Which makes them impressive."

"It seems an insult to the night to speak of purpose and intent, when this common moment is so brimming full of blessed design and tranquillity," I said contemplatively. I turned my head to her. "All things follow their course."

"Care to follow me to the bed?" she asked with a devious grin. "My eyes are falling into my chest."

I turned around. It was lust shining in my eyes. Yet I checked it. In a soft voice, I confessed with a little smile, "Perhaps I should attempt to investigate before they are lost in there forever."

The colour flared in her face. She took delight in my blundered little joke. I looked at her, at her breasts, at her hips and then at her face. Ashamed and trying to conceal it. Lust.

"You could try, but I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. It's a big and complex maze. Beware of it, for it will drive you mad!" she said with plain confidence, rejecting me with no shame.

"You're right," I murmured in defeat, careless. "It seems now that it's better if I explore the lengths of this pillow; otherwise I'm ill-equipped at venturing into the unknown."

"Well now. Maybe I should go then," she said, couldn't-care-less posture. She turned around and went for the door.

I caught her hand, feeling like a child, but banishing all perceptions of this vulnerability. "Don't go."

She turned around with a scandalized frown. "What? You want to cuddle?"

Such rudeness. Careless masked femininity. I shook my head and sighed, "You're right. What was I thinking?" I grinned through my teeth. "Begone."

"Oh, fine, since you asked so nicely, I'll stay," she said defensively. Armand had been so right –she needed freedom of choice, she couldn't bear obstructions from liberty of thought, of actions, of anything. What I lacked was patience, driven by my own maddening force of desire.

This was not the case, my eyes said. This is what she understood.

Mine was more truthfully a need to drag her by the hand and sit her on the bed because she was such an infuriating defensive child. But I had already done that once tonight and it almost didn't end well… I banished this thought, swallowing my shame, and gave her an arrogant smirk as I gestured towards the bed, "After you."

"Let me guess. You do not mean to mock," Hawke said grumpily, as she sighed and walked towards the bed, sinking it, half-dead.

"Me? Never," I said arrogantly. I lay beside her, keeping the civil distance, devil that I apparently am. I sought to seem careless, though cunning attempts aside, I would not forget my manners.

Her eyes were closed. The lamplight was soft. What a lush and passive being she seemed to be, her hair cascading over the pillow, her skin flawless, her mouth half closed. I sat down beside her. I looked down at her as she slept there, easy at last, breathing as though she were safe. Slowly her eyes opened. She looked up at me. There was no fear in her. Indeed, it seemed that she was questioning something that wouldn't let her drift off to sleep.

"Out of your element, Fenris?" Hawke finally said with lifted, unimpressed eyebrows, as she turned to her side and watched me lay carelessly.

"Quite on the contrary," I said calmly. "I'm perfectly content at the moment."

"Hm. It's like you're drawing the distance from my homeland to yours," she said as she brushed her hand between the colossal space I intended to keep between us.

"You can come closer if you wish," I said carefully, turning my head to look at her. She shyly looked away. "No one is stopping you from venturing into foreign lands."

She turned and with the slowness of a dazed person, reached under the heavy pillows at the head of the bed. "So I should perhaps withdraw the dagger from under the pillow?" she asked mockingly.

"I am too tired to hurt you, even if I wanted to," I said wearily, my eyes half-closing.

"Well don't fret on account of me! Sleep!" she said carelessly.

I frowned shortly, protest and inconvenience alight all over my face. Ah, whatever. I had enough triumph this night to hold dearly without pressing anything further. I wasn't going to beg for affection. "Good night, Hawke."

"Good night," she whispered, amusement in her tone.

And so we went to our separate sleep, but not a minute passed and I felt her moving closer, clutching at my chest. She wrapped one arm around me and laid her head on me. I didn't say anything, pretending to be already sleep, but I did ignore my restraint and placed my right arm across her back, pressing her further against me. I heard her slow breathing like a murmur in the night. I opened my eyes for a second to remember this, lest I ever forget. I could hear my own heart. I could feel it beating against the richness of her red hair, and as I closed my eyes I feared only one thing in the whole world—that this bliss should not last.


	19. All Is Bright

Last night was despair, passion, ardency and fervor, just as much as it was understanding.

All was violent.

Morning came and things changed.

All was bright.

* * *

><p><strong>The Fade<strong>

Suddenly, there came above the hills a great fatal light. My eyes hurt unbearably. They were on fire. "My eyes," I cried and reached to cover them. Fire covered me. I calmed down quickly thereafter, when I realized it was merely a much brighter, hotter Sun that I had been used to halfway through living by the temperate-continentals of Ferelden up until the subtropics of Kirkwall.

I had followed Fenris to a strange land and spied on him there, telling myself that I would not disturb him, as I had done many times before.

Let me tell the story of that episode now, and then I promise I'll disappear. Beware of lots of humor and shenanigans in the afterward third-person narratives. This one isn't.

At a safe distance I had tracked him as he walked briskly in the sunlight, masking my thoughts as skillfully as he always masked his own. What a striking figure he made under the grand rainbow eucalyptus trees as he stopped again. I knew something about this… yes. They were both radiant, colorful, beautiful and useful. They were prized both for the colorful patches left by its shedding bark and for its pulpwood, which was used to make paper. Only in a drawing from a useless herbology book had I seen one though, and that was just dumb luck when I'd opened it as a child, for I first read "Herboobology" and thought it had naughty drawings in it.

I sensed a change in him almost at once. He carried his sword as always and he flipped it upon his shoulder nonchalantly. Strength he had plenty, but the nonchalance and "presentation" were a bit out of… context or character. Something wasn't right; I sensed it, yet it didn't seem much of an alarm for me at the time.

But there was a brooding to him as he walked; a pronounced dissatisfaction; and hour after hour passed during which he wandered as if time were of no importance at all. It was very confusing to me soon, to catch the idea that this was indeed, Fenris, walking, reminiscing, the image crumbling and resetting again and again. Now and then I did manage to catch some pungent image of his youth in the tropics, even flashes of a verdant jungle so very different from the wintry northern skies and lands of my mother country, which was surely never as warm. I had not had my dream of the tiger yet. I did not know what this meant.

Hmmm. I missed Mojo. Why was he not here, prowling this jungle with me?

It was tantalizingly fragmentary. Fenris's skills at keeping his thoughts inside were simply too good.

It seemed very charming to me, but mostly on account of the sweet warmth of the air around me, and the bit of jungle creeping down around the foreign structures, with its inevitable snaggle of banana leaf and Queen's Wreath vine. Ah, that vine. A nice rule of thumb might be: Don't ever live in a part of the world which will not support that vine.

Birds with feathers the color of the summer sky or the burning sun streak through the wet branches. Monkeys screamed as they reached out with their tiny clever little hands for vines as thick as hemp rope. Sleek and sinister mammals of a thousand shapes and sizes crawled in remorseless search of one another over monstrous roots and half-buried tubers, under giant rustling leaves and up the twisted trunks of saplings dying in the fetid darkness, even as they sucked their last nourishment from the reeking soil.

A thought came upon my mind –

Mindless and endlessly vigorous is the cycle of hunger and satiation, of violent and painful death. Reptiles with eyes as hard and shining as opals feast eternally upon the writhing universe of stiff and crackling insects as they have since the days when no warm-blooded creature ever walked the earth. And the insects—winged, fanged, pumped with deadly venom, and dazzling in their hideousness and ghastly beauty, and beyond all cunning—ultimately feast upon all.

There is no mercy in this forest. No mercy, no justice, no worshipful appreciation of its beauty, no soft cry of joy at the beauty of the falling rain. Even the sagacious little monkey is a moral idiot at heart.

That is—there was no such thing until the coming of man.

My blood froze amidst the hotness of the air, as the imagery settled in for once. The architecture, the contours, the weather, they all settled in. Colours settled in. I beheld, quite startled, the effigy of the perfect spitting image of Fenris, only he had… no markings. No Tevinter spiky armory, no… _Andraste's sweet ass. _His hair was dark, coffee-coloured almost as he walked beneath the endless vines and punched them away nonchalantly, and in direct sunlight it almost burned auburn. It was a bit longer, but still he kept it all loose and in his face like the historical never-changing Fenris. Loose and tangled, as far as I could see.

Were the people here the best thing in this savage garden, warring as they have done so long upon one another? Or were they simply an undifferentiated part of it, no more complex ultimately than the crawling centipede or the slinky satin-skinned jaguar or the silent big-eyed frog so very toxic that one touch of his spotted back brings certain death – although how I knew this I couldn't remember - ?

Had it not been for the endless tan humans, elves and Qunari forever walking with cold, indomitable eyes past him in this strange-looking city hidden amidst the vast jungles, he would have looked like a young boy. But people startled him. He had an old man's inordinate fear of being struck down and hurt. He'd look cautiously, but a bit impatiently or resentfully, at the children running into him as they chased one another. Then he'd fall back into his thoughts.

I commenced my pacing again and followed him, pushing the thick springy vines out of my way.

On and on he walked, however, sometimes as if he were being driven, and on and on I followed, feeling strangely comforted by the mere sight of him at a cold distance from me or several feet ahead.

The sun was setting rapidly. Images changed again – better yet, they pulsated, transformed and vibrated. I couldn't concentrate and I felt as if I was going to fall. I wanted to catch my breath. It seemed as though we had been walking for a day.

I longed to see past the thickening darkness, and the shadows that shrouded the embracing hills. I longed to somehow possess a kind of preternatural hearing and catch the soft songs of the jungles, to wander with magical speed up the mountains of the interior to find the secret little valleys and waterfalls as only a conscious mage in the Fade could with very much effort and practice.

_Oh, shit. _Only now I realized I was dreaming. That and the fact that, as I rushed to catch up with him, he didn't seem to get bigger, but in fact, smaller. My breathing was purely somewhere lost in the imaginary, because I saw a child.

Fenris was that child.

He stopped right near a cave of sorts, and beyond I heard the loud chorus of a tropical forest. He looked back, to his left, to his right. Then again I saw the deep blue evening sky above me; I felt the breeze that was moving over me as smoothly as if it were water. All the fragrances of the green jungle assaulted my nostrils. The freshness was purely rhapsodic. I found it delicious and strange, and I knew it could only mean one thing: he was, _we_ were in Seheron. In a second he was gone.

Damn it. He was gone. I caught a glimpse of a shadow entering the cave, but I couldn't seem to move. The opening was plain and pitch-black, as if by some ancient sorcery, darkness had actually come to life in a material sense and played the role of an impenetrable barrier- fence-gate-_whatever_. I wanted to go in anyway, of course, my willingness was almost repugnantly insistent, but something was holding me in place, or maybe I didn't know how to walk anymore. I couldn't move.

Take a step, what's so hard.

I couldn't.

My heart started pouncing and my veins froze again, although not even that could I feel properly. It felt like those times when you dreamt you were being chased but suddenly you couldn't run anymore; the irony being, that I was the chas_er._

Blasted.

* * *

><p><strong>An hour before Sunrise, <strong>**Casa Della Libertà Eterna, **_**Last day in Antiva City**_

Fenris awoke suddenly, having had that kind of annoying dream where one appears to fall into a pit and wake up with a shudder. He heard birds chirruping outside and felt the chilly breeze of the Antivan morning. He listened to the movement of the waters beneath the inn and all around it, and through the canals and into the sea. He blinked a couple of times, the imagery and nuances propelling back into a coherent frame. Images came to him, bits and pieces of dreams.

Nothing was substantial but Hawke. And Hawke was here. Back turned to him, sleeping like the dead, almost about to be crushed by his apparently tight embrace. The cascade of red hair under his chin brought back the familiar sweet smell. He brushed his cheek against it, as if to be certain it was real. Looking out the window, the sky had been stamped with the usual rosy and violet nuances of dawn. The sun was teasing the world still, underneath the horizon.

Indeed, it seemed the horrors and joys that overwhelmed him with so many shocks were but a prelude for their coming closer. A thunder could strike him now and he would probably repel it with all the power of his being, so he wouldn't be taken away from this moment. Ah, but how long before this will become just another dream? He feared. Forget hope. Forget thoughts. He tilted his head and rested it against her soft hair and clutched her waist tighter from the back. There was still time. He closed his eyes and dozed back to sleep.

**Moments later**

Isabela had always been shameless and with a pardon for everything. And why not? You take what you can get, and if you can get more than what life gives you – more like throws at you, a poor steak now and then to the starved and crazed dog –what's it to life to stop you? She was nosy when she wanted to, and very private when she needed to. She kept her doubts secret and moved on in fine tune with the filth and the wonders of a world set out to be unfair. Life is unfair. Simple as that. Crooked. Straighten it up to your preference, if you had the balls to.

But now that something happened to Hawke, she regretted the recent altercation with her. Of course, she considered her mind a bit too crazy even for her, much too pointlessly brave. Futile, to the larger scheme of things, because Hawke was more dead-set on taking care of her friends and innocent strangers, stray puppies and lost kittens, than ultimately herself; if stomachs didn't burn and growl from hunger, the girl would probably be dead by now.

Although a leader and a motherly, sort of guarding presence that she was to them all, she appreciated one thing in particular – she was the kind that let you stray as much as you wanted to, far away from her circle of security, but most times you wouldn't dare to cross it and venture into foreign spaces simply _because_ she gave you the liberty to choose. It was for her and maybe everyone else a terrible contradiction. She welcomed and cared enough, but appearing to stick to her private business just the same and letting people jump and twirl and sway and stumble on their own if they so wished. Ah, now they sounded like children. But a fine stratagem in its intent, nonetheless, right? Points for that.

Like a true general, she did what she had to do, whatever she wanted to do. Had to and wanted. That's the thing.

Helping Isabela was –or at least had been – still something she wanted to do, although she gave up wondering as to why. There was no barrel, pile of rubble and lonely bush stretching from Darktown to Sundermount that Hawke hadn't stuck her head into for her sake. Of course, they hadn't found anything. Hawke wanted to do it, but didn't really appear to care. In the Hanged Man, when they would drink afterwards, she seemed as if it would always be normal if she just stood up and left suddenly, never to come back. What a contradiction, but still. Cunning and cleverness were things Isabela herself luckily possessed, and she couldn't help but guess that Hawke had already been stamped by death and cruelty enough to make her roughly immune to the most common desires.

Only in the courtyard of the palazzo-inn-casa-whatever they were staying in did Hawke lose her temper a bit and told Isabela to get out of her sight. It was still liberty of choice, which she imposed, though. But, just a thought – maybe she used that opportunity to unconsciously instruct Isabela to stay and look after Dorian while they were venturing in the belly of certain death. One could only imagine what sort of twisted ideas came into this woman's head every time she did something.

As much as she liked Hawke, for she was independent and wild just as she was, Isabela wasn't really hopelessly and irrevocably wed to her as Varric was. And Fenris, apparently. Ah, yes, Fenris was… well, he was hopelessly off limits now. No matter if he stayed with Hawke in boring, sexless, platonic _whatever_, one could blind and gag Isabela and she would still recognize a man in love when she saw one. Sometimes it was funny to see them struggle with their hidden emotions, but most times she feared for her own life… because The Hanged Man would one day surely crumble and collapse, burn or blow up from the sexual tension and the snarky way they went at each other's throats. It was simple. The Hanged Man would surely blow up someday, either because one of them exploded or because someone would set fire to it just to make them shut up.

Alas, whatever brooding that kept Isabela up and unable to sleep any longer, it made her get out of her room and long for a large cup of Antivan coffee. Antivan coffee soon to be turned Ferelden, if she found any rum about. She walked out of her room and strolled wearily along the hallway. She stopped suddenly, scrutinizing the door of Hawke's room. Why not check?

Locked. She wasn't back. She walked past it but stopped again as she realized she was out of coin. She pissed it all on drinks for two days straight to calm Dorian down from his crazed anguish in waiting for Armand to come back and fearing for his life. _Time to borrow money from Hawke and tell her later_. She went back to the door and picked the lock with the swiftness of any self-respecting rogue.

Only when the door opened did she realize she had the wrong door. Fenris was there with his back turned and sleeping in the bed like a preserved, half-dead peaceful mummy. She immediately blocked the usual sounds she would have made in this situation and turned her head to close the door on her way out without waking him. She knew he had not slept at all, having looked after Hawke in a full half of Antiva City the day before, until Varric finally convinced him they would have had a higher chance to find her at the inn if she was – she had better be – still alive and well.

_Andraste's granny panties. _Her automatism clashed, her mind paralyzed, her eyes widened, and she turned her head back to the sleeping elf. He was glued to a woman in his sleep. Blue coat and red hair, that's as much as she made up. Oh, oh… **oh.**

No stampede or cheetah in the world could have outrun her as she headed for the hills with such fiery speed. Correction: one particular hill called Varric.

"Varric, Varric, Varric!" she shouted rapidly as she came into the common dining rooms and almost tripped and fell on her face.

"Rivaini, Rivai-, ah sod it, your name's too long. Who put fairy-power in your drink?" Varric asked in surprise. He stood up from his chair and watched her catch her breath.

In-between panting, with a hand over her chest, she mumbled, "Feh… haw…bah… sleeh... tugh-"

"Fenhoebas-what?" Varric asked. "Are you having a stroke?"

"Lisshhen to meeh," Isabela muttered incoherently, hand over her heart.

"I'm trying to but you keep making no sense," Varric shouted.

She stood up straight again and shook her head rapidly. "Hawke is back and she's sleeping with Fenny."

"Bullshit," Varric scowled.

"Come see for yourself," Isabela shouted and heaved a palm in annoyance.

"If this is one of your tricks to have me away while the waitress pours a laxative in my soup, you can kiss that pretty head of yours goodbye," Varric threatened, his eyes narrowing. "I'll have it ripped off."

"And how exactly will you do that? Hire the Crows you're running from?" Isabela arched an eyebrow and shrugged, "Get a ladder?" she asked meanly.

"There's at least one taller person than me in this city who would do it for free," Varric muttered back angrily, subtly meaning either Fenris or Armand.

"Are you going to keep bitching at me like a princess or are you gonna come see for yourself?" Isabela asked impatiently.

"After you, Siren Pants. Oh wait, you have no pants," Varric mused as they took off for the upper level.

"And yet you do you're still the closest one to resembling a fairy princess," Isabela fired back.

"I'm sexy and I know it," Varric mused cockily.

* * *

><p><strong>Meanwhile, upstairs…<strong>

Hawke awoke with her usual careless arm and leg stretching and mmm-ing to no end. She had already forgotten what it felt like to wake up in a **bed**. Her smile of satisfaction would have reached Kirkwall, if not for her elbow that had outrun it and reached Fenris's nose. His short growl at the disturbing force and his tightening clutch at her waist woke her up completely.

"Shit. Oh. Ah… Top of the morning to ya," Hawke said quickly… as quickly as she wanted to hit herself in the face for being such a smooth one in these situations.

No adorable puppies and kittens in the world would have ever outdone Fenris as he muttered the softest possible "mm" as he opened his eyes. Dark eyes that now became fiercely bright as he looked at her. She was smiling awkwardly and didn't quite know what to do with her hands.

To her surprise, Fenris smiled at her so knowingly, with a sudden quiet air of triumph. "Look who decided they would love to venture into foreign lands."

She coughed and made him look at their positions. _He _was holding her, not the other way around.

"That is not how I remember it last night," Fenris fired back unyieldingly.

"So you _were_ pretending to be asleep," Hawke said in an accusatory tone. "You're such a snake."

"Keep trying to make yourself pass as perfectly innocent," Fenris said with an all-knowing grin. "Meanwhile, I will go back to sleep, if you don't mind. I have already started dreaming halfway through your sentence anyway."

"Har-har," Hawke replied grumpily. She broke away from his grip and rose from the bed. "Well. I want to get up." She put a hand over her forehead and felt the wave of fever.

"Has your intoxicated mind suddenly thought it would be a legendary accomplishment to compete with the Sun in who rises first to glory and takes over the world?" Fenris asked sarcastically, rising up on his elbows and rubbing one eye. "Do you wager the gods will give you a legendary prize?"

"If the prize is you getting out of my face – sure!" Hawke fired back grumpily, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"… And we're back to the stinging," Fenris muttered wearily, rubbing his eyes still.

"Well I'm _waspish _like that," she mused childishly.

Fenris was exhausted. Half-asleep, but half was enough to fire back with at least half his wit.

"And clearly you take pride in your hard work of bestowing your cruelty upon my world," he said sarcastically with his eyes closed, mocking the busy bee turned an evil stinging wasp.

"Well, some take delight- oh!" She stopped and smiled, turning her head to him while sitting on the edge. "There's this old Ferelden folk song that goes like," she paused to clear her throat and sang in a perfectly tuned and strong womanly voice, "Now there's some takes delight in the carriages a rolling, and some takes delight in the hurley or the bowlin'. But I takes delight in the juice of the barley…And courting pretty fair maids in the morning bright and early!" she continued with raised hands. "Mush-a ring dum-a do dum-a daaaah."

Moment of silence for the fallen. Fenris wasn't impressed. Go figure…

"Pam, pam, pam, pam," she finished while banging her palms on her knees. "Well, look who's really going whack fall the daddy-o."

He opened his eyes. "Whack-a-what?"

"Never mind," Hawke said in amusement. "This particular fair maiden doesn't seem to get my drift this fine morning bright and early."

"And now I'm a woman," Fenris said with sharp disdain.

"Hey, you call me forest troll and I call you fair maiden and you're still the one to bitch and complain?" she demanded.

"You do make an excellent point," Fenris said calmly, which could only mean shortly thereafter a pretentious little snarky comment would follow. He put a hand over his heart first, as if to make it more dramatic. "My sincere apologies, Bob."

"Apology rejected, Genevieve," Hawke stung back calmly. She rose from the bed and turned to look at him.

"You burn me with those words," Fenris replied with eyes fully closed, his tone of inconvincible honesty.

Hawke grinned widely and shrugged, "Well, if you didn't have me to rake you over the coals now and then, there wouldn't be any fire in your life at all."

How very true, yet she didn't know it to be so.

"Dragons… dragons, everywhere," Fenris muttered calmly to himself, staring in blank now towards the ceiling. Yes, an allegory most refined. This was truly the Dragon Age.

"Ah, yes. Big, mighty, mystical creatures destroying other people's lives on purpose, this causing havoc around all around the world and bringing it to the very pits of despair," she said subtly in sarcasm. Her tone then came very calm, "That can be rather annoying."

"It depends how you look at it," Fenris said calmly in his weary daze.

"There is more than one? Do tell," Hawke said eagerly.

He rose on his elbows and considered it for a few seconds. He managed to open only one eye. Then he explained, one-eyed, "Well, you see. You could look at it at as if these seriously misunderstood creatures are boiling and preying on the world around them, bringing it to the very end of its days. But one must never forget, that there lies a difference. A difference so easy to forget."

She thought he was going to end in his predictable mean punch line. This wasn't it.

He rose his palm and explained further, one-eyed, "And it is tangled up in the illusion that they are consciously and deliberately evil. But those that do, those are the Old Gods. Nothing to do with actual dragons," he dismissed with his palm, "but they wear their garments in their image when they do emerge from the earth as the so-called Archdemons."

"And?" came her impatient tone.

Fenris sighed and stretched his explanation, "And so it is thus misinterpreted that all dragons are cruel and evil. It is a fallacy by appearance, as well as by the natural need of living beings to form convincible and consoling inductions." He gestured with his palms up. "Stretching out the truth to lessen the burden of not knowing everything, if you will. "

"So you're saying…" Hawke shrugged with lifted eyebrows.

Fenris remained a statue, staring in blank with his one open eye. He appeared to have lost his train of thought. "I don't… quite remember my original point," he confessed.

"You're such a joy," she muttered in a pretend-sweet tone. Then she sighed and took a seat back on the bed. "Ah, let me clean up the mess inside your head."

Very true, she had already been doing that for a good amount of time. She didn't know it to be true.

"So dragons blow fire and destroy the world and they're annoying," she started while gesturing and looking up at the ceiling. "Then dragons are not actually evil, but the Old Gods who make do with their masks."

He lay back flat on the bed in complete exhaustion as he nodded and mumbled "Correct."

"They look and fight and do almost everything just the same, but only the Old Gods are purposely and consciously, and all the more powerfully able of actually bringing an apocalypse."

"Affirmative," came again Fenris's placid tone with another nod.

"So you're saying I'm not really purposely trying to mock or hurt you, but sometimes I may accidentally do it because it is in my nature to be mean and that's automatically where my tone usually goes whenever I open my mouth?" Hawke asked very rapidly.

"You are harmless," Fenris said with a smirk that had all the traceries of a warm expression because of his closed eyes.

In truth, now he remembered, he started something related to that idea, but ended up trying to make a metaphor about how some mages are truly evil and some can be truly good. Paying her a compliment with an obvious reality he had put honest and stubborn work in trying to discard for a vaguely long time. That was quite an effort in itself. Though when did he suddenly become so utterly resigned from his past endeavor? Alas.

She quickly rose from the bed, standing proudly atall.

"I am quite dangerous, in fact," Hawe said with a devilish grin. She was not pertaining to magic.

Both his eyes opened. "Are you now? Well, by all means –prove it," Fenris gestured arrogantly. He was not pertaining to magic.

"Now why would I do such a thing!" came her proud voice. Suddenly a flame came up in her hand, but not as lively as her girlish smile. "I hate to hurt you."

He raised an eyebrow with all the fullness of nonchalance. Fenris was unimpressed.

With a quickness of a genuinely driven person, she launched the fireball next to his head, purposely misfiring. He dodged it in a second, of course, the fire dying out in the air, and he looked back at her**without **some pretentious scowl of inconvenience.

Fenris let himself fall back on the pillow while muttering arrogantly, "Well... thank god for _that_."

Oh, good. Not pertaining to magic, but using magic as pretense. Yes, oh, she was so mighty dangerous.

Hawke understood his subtle mockery to mask his inconvenience. Suddenly the irony became all the more sweeter all with her drawing up that historical pretentious scowl of inconvenience, and added to the charm a little _hmph_.

After several seconds of silence in which he seemed to have a thought in his mind and repeatedly trying to kill it, he soon decided he could make do with play out of character today and open up.

"I'm not made out of glass," he replied with an edge.

"No. You're made out of skin," she said flatly with a smile, as she gestured. "And hair, and muscle, and blood, and internal organs and whatever other things that can be irrevocably torn apart."

The soul, he suspected. He opened his eyes again and rose on his elbows.

"I assure you. I am quite sturdy," Fenris said rather sweetly.

"I assure you. I am quite hopeless," Hawke retorted with a satirically innocent smile.

"Ah, good. I was afraid hope was feeling overly ambitious today all with trying to make a special effort," Fenris said sarcastically.

The corner of Hawke's lips went rapidly crooked and she crossed her arms. "Well I see strength isn't making much of an appearance today either."

_Yes, mock my utter exhaustion out of trying to find you in half of Antiva. More the fool I, so it seems._

Ah, he didn't mind. He was glad to partake in their usual dance of snarky comments. Even if she was a queen of evasion, he was content with his little victory from last night. Even if she had not truly said the words he had secretly hoped for and had buried somewhere deep in his soul, he was still positive with delight; noted, despite feeling stupid and remarkably appalled by himself that in a fit of crazy passion, that had seemed to obliterate all his logic, he had inexplicably and with no reserve said,"I am yours." To say such abominably idiotic words - better never than late, one could only hope. Unfortunately to his evermore ironic fate, he had chosen in reverse.

He'd met Hawke on a Tuesday. He'd kissed her on a Friday.

Two and a half years later.

He sighed. That seemed like a fair triumph, right? Only two and half more years before she would allow anything else, he suspected. Double that amount of time upon giving up her heart for him, he suspected.

Yes, her heart was a secret garden and the walls were very high. As well as other parts; he stood corrected. He sighed again. How long before he'd manage to tear down those high walls? Tearing down was nothing. He wanted to viciously crush them to bits. There was still time.

Yet, unbeknownst for a long time, he had not understood that she was intentionally disguising her feelings with sarcasm; that was usually the last resort of people who are timid and chaste of heart, whose souls have been coarsely and impudently invaded; and who, until the last moment, refuse to yield out of pride and were afraid to express their own feelings to you. Hawke was not the case. Hawke was worse than that; sarcasm was her _first _choice of weapon, and her second, third and twenty-fifth, and in doing so she quickly got him infuriated with her. Her last resort being, of course, a perfectly precise and graceful punch or sword thrust in your face. If she had strong feelings for him, this might have been the case. Only a matter of time. Yes, there was still time. He was rather grateful for that little equation.

Ah, perhaps she was a lady. After all, he had to be the judge of that. Be that as it may, truth would have it that he was not only a good judge of character when it came to most people, but an even greater judge of himself. He was no ladykiller. _Shocking, _he thought.

She, instead, could outdo any scary black widow in the dark arts of killing him as a man with a fancy with each passing day while her walls were up so damn high. He had managed to climb at least a little, rather quickly. One must surely give her credit merely for not also throwing some grenade in his face in order to make him fall off of it. And if that dramatic scenery wasn't enough, it just added to the charm that one thought he held in his head, that if he was the so-called Knight of Roses, she was the Queen of Thorns.

And she was too proud to be a queen.

Perhaps he was too cowardly to be a knight.

Well, regal features aside, she deserved to have a good and safe life; one he could never give her. That was something that had haunted his mind and made him equally wanting to pull away from her as much as he wanted to be with her. Protection from any danger, that what was more important for him. He could do that. He could attempt to. The only thing he wasn't certain of was if protecting her was perhaps made best by him completely disappearing from her life or remaining there to look after her himself on a very regular, strong, full basis. He could not do it in moderation any longer. Actually this was not called moderation in this case. It was called doing things half-heartedly. And he was surely a man that had never made friends with doing anything half-heartedly.

Crucified between these two thoughts, never did he feel so curiously bitter. Not that she needed to be protected, she would have said. After all, she had risen from nothing and made a life for herself in the sad little city of Kirkwall.

Ah, yes. He was a man half in love with despair. And Despair was staring at him in the eye all dressed in fine bright garments with a thick cascade of red hair and an even redder soul. Yes, he completed by being half-infuriated at it on the other side.

Yet even so, despite this shameful state of affairs and the bitterness that afflicted his soul, a lonely, persistent thought did manage to pester his mind.

Just as he knew the sun was obliged to rise each morning in the east, no matter how much a western arousal might have pleased it –now he was squeezing dirty thoughts in his internal monologues, how wonderful – so he knew that Hawke was obliged to be stuck with him despite her everlasting defenses. Gold was inviting, and so was nobility, but they could not match the fever in his heart, and sooner or later she would have to catch it.

She had less choice than the sun.

"Sorry. Mechanical reflex," she mused childishly. "Truly not my intent."

"Of course," he muttered back and gave her a little smile. "Yet every time it's with great success."

"Patience, persistence and perspiration make an unbeatable combination for success," Hawke recited knightly.

"Well, at least you've got one of those covered," Fenris said meanly with a grin.

"Of course," Hawke said confidently, but her smile died shortly thereafter and was reborn in the fullness of a scowl. "Wait… which one?"

"Oh, I would not dare disclose such facts," he played arrogantly with half-closed eyes. "It would make me seem ungentlemanly."

"King of semantics," she muttered calmly. Her smile was full of joy. "Back with the insults it is then."

His whole time together with Hawke suddenly flashed before his eyes. Again, and certainly not the last time, he conceived that her moods and fortunes somehow reflected his own. Which moods and fortunes you might ask? Cascades over cascades of big, gigantic, massive, gargantuan flows of sarcasm and mean comments pouring over the slow-growing garden of their friendship. Yes, surely one might think these purely fantastic waves of stinging would have utterly and completely drowned the flowers before they had ever really bloomed, but no. Theirs was a garden full of inconceivable wonders and inexplicable lunacies like that. It had been clear from the very beginning that they didn't really –or perhaps had no interest to– function within the normal laws of nature.

What came to mind was the beginning of their first conversation in the Hanged Man, morning after they met.

* * *

><p><strong>Autumn of 9:31 Dragon, The Hanged Man<strong>

"So, you run and you hide, is that it?" she asked calmly, when Varric went to buy the drinks.

"Not anymore," he replied insipidly, his elbows catching roots on the table.

"Now you just hide," she said flatly with a smile. "That mansion seems the perfect pit to crawl and die in, after all."

He pressed his lips in annoyance. "As a slave I used to have a remarkably distinct lack of initiative, but now that I met the one truly remarkable mage in all of Thedas_,_ I think I am beginning to set an equally distinct personal goal."

Hawke frowned; she didn't understand. Her eyes did sparkle shortly thereafter and brought back the air of joyful mockery to defend herself from being that one, single clown mage in all of Theds. "Oh, yes, how true this is. I did say you would be the great humble pain my pretentious clownish magical ass. How's that going for you?"

Not a day had passed and they were already snarkity-uppity with each other.

"I'm fairly ambitious," he shrugged.

It was surprising that he was beginning to acquit himself none too badly in the use of the sentimental and picturesque language which was called _wit_.

"So apart from that fierce drive and distinct ambition to bitch at me, do you have any other interests or hobbies?" she asked while playing with the red band wrapped around the ring of her pommel.

Fenris considered this for a minute, watching her as she played. "I enjoy the arts of swordsmanship," came his flat-toned statement.

Hawke leaned over the table and asked, her voice changing curiously. "You fence?"

"Not exactly," Fenris drawled, slightly arching an eyebrow. "I prefer freestyle."

To this day, she did not know if he hadn't realized what he was saying or if he had deliberately intended it as a subtlety.

"What about you? What do you do?" He needed to ask questions, draw her out. He needed to find out all the information that he could, for his curiosity was peeking horribly inside as to what sort of depraved calamity this woman in front of him was. Quick-thinking, calculcated, rather excellent in battle. But she was a mage. He stood corrected; his curiosity was howling inside. His voice sounded strong and smooth, but his hands were a bit shaky and he put them in his lap so she couldn't see.

"I prey on innocent villagers and terrify little children," she said with a nasty smile, mocking his 'viper in your midst' comment. "And sometimes when I'm feeling _really_ evil, I read books or paint."

Several minutes later he proceeded to interrogate her again. Her brother had sat down at the table. He didn't seem to notice.

"So, that is where you all live?" Fenris asked a bit contained. "It's rather – " She arched an eyebrow, so his voice lowered and stiffened, and his face launched into awkwardness as he finished, "small."

"Oh no, that is just our Satinalia house," Hawke muttered with tones and smiles of unconvincing joy and tranquility. "We have a house for every day of the year."

"It is rather small, though," Carver said with a sigh. "Not very practical, y'know. You sleep in the same tiny room, eat at the same tiny table and breathe the same tiny amount of air in the same tiny house as your sister does for very longhalf of the day, when it just so happens that the other equally long half you spend working with that same _tiny _sister," he finished with narrowed eyes pointed at Hawke.

She appeared not to have heard him and finished drinking her pint with ease. Then she said, "Emphasis on the tiny," and pointed with her head somewhere down south of her brother.

"As tiny as your brain it is then," Carver muttered back and took an angry sip.

"Well now that is an impressively witty way of paying both me and you a compliment of which only one side can be true!" she uttered back joyfully.

Carver resolved to ignore her and continued complaining to Fenris in a reminiscing tone, "We have a lonely little scrubbing brush you see. Never been used a day since we got it."

"Kind of like Gamlen's only brain cell," Hawke said meanly.

"And not unlike his cheese at all," Carver added grumpily. "It magically disappears way before breakfast in terms of matter, but in terms of smell… beware your nostrils, 'cause it resides forever." He shook his head. "For-eh-ver."

"Just like the dirty clothes… multiplying like rabbits, because that's what they apparently like to do when I'm not around," Hawke said with narrowed eyes to her brother.

"Don't be an ass, Sister," Carver mumbled sharply.

"Well, that's a little bit difficult to accomplish, isn't it?" Hawke retorted nonchalantly. "I mean, unless you'd be so kind so as to paint me with black and white stripes, then I'd be a zebra!"

He listened to all that – fairly amused at her jokes, though he wouldn't admit it – but he was in deep discomfort. Finally, one thing that made him smoothen for once was a good amount of time later after Anders joined the table and had already begun his hot-heated revolutionary speeches to him about how mages deserved the same amount of freedom as he did, to which of course he fired back with his own sharp arguments and flat explanations about the true nature of mages who had enough power to obliterate all the hope of his race of ever living properly. Oh, so you are a hypocrite, because you lived under obstruction of liberty and yet you don't wish mages to have the same privilege … and then it all went down-hill from there, of course.

Hawke did not join in their fight, but rather listened with a brow arching up towards Heaven and perhaps pleading for her own salvation from the impossible demonic bloodlust scorching at the table. The metaphor was not very far away from reality. _He_ was, in a way, impossible. Anders was, in a way, demonic. The fiery pits of hell in their tones were, in a way, filled with bloodlust and scorching. And Hawke, in the one and only way, was sitting at the table.

Several of minutes later characterized solely by the words stated above, Anders went for the bar to order another round of drinks because Hawke pointed it out in a low tone all of a sudden just when the two men were about to jump at each other's throats. As soon as he disappeared, Fenris sighed quietly in annoyance.

Hawke picked up on that, of course, but what truly obliterated his already-historical inconvenience with her was when she leaned back against the wall and said, "Don't waste your breath on him. Explaining anything to that one?" She sighed and accentuating the words in grump, "It's like trying ta' slap the dumb off a retard."

That was the first time he had ever smiled at her, without realizing until after it had happened. She didn't seem to have noticed either.

Of course, their joined annoyance at Anders had quickly turned out to be lacking in character of some dire or ultimately separating argument for Hawke and Fenris to get along. It was as though this mutual apathy towards a singular creature had never even existed.

They'd met at the Hanged Man, bitch at each other a bit softly, head off to do jobs together, bitch at each other with a bit more edge to their tones, then when they finally returned to the Hanged Man after a long day's work of thorough bitching at each other, they bitched some more.

For instance, he remembered one lovely day that only Hawke could make it seem as an oxymoron in less than three seconds of meeting each other.

* * *

><p><strong>Somewhere in Time, The Hanged Man<strong>

She came by his table that one lovely day lost in the numerous set of all the other lovely days, as any other. "So, what are you doing today?"

Fenris was drinking his ale quietly and calmly muttered, "Nothing."

"You did that yesterday," she said with a smile.

Upon taking another sip, came his forever earthbound tone. "I wasn't finished."

"Jeez, who pissed in your breakfast this morning?" she asked in amusement.

Fenris's eyelids fell halfway and calmly said, "Stop talking."

"But then how will you stop listening to me?" she asked sarcastically. "You could make do with ignoring me right now."

"I'm certainly thriving in that fantastic alternate dimension," Fenris said flatly and drank away nonchalantly.

"You do have a distinct lack of ambition then," Hawke said grumpily. How could he even attempt to pretend she was not there, all hair, and eyes, and breasts and –

Loud. More than once did the tragedy occur that Fenris would sleep in his mansion, perfectly unperturbed and in peace for once, almost mummified in his blankets, and then he would be suddenly woken up by hearing her loud shouts of desperation after her misplaced armour or _whatever _all away from her house to his.

She was loud even when she whispered. Not because her voice was always loud, but more importantly her presence was. All, all… all of her.

"I've never imagined I would want to gag someone so early in a conversation," Fenris replied back in sheer, but calm annoyance. The worse his insults became, the more it meant he was defending himself from all of her. Speaking of loud and gagging, that was actually how he had the idea to gift her the now legendary Magical Ball of Everyone's Fortune.

"What DID you eat for breakfast? Bitch Flakes?" Hawke demanded in controlled outrage.

"I've had snappier comebacks from a bowl of stew," he muttered grumpily as he sipped from his drink.

She sighed and leaned on the wall near his table, "I admire your hard work in offending me, but take a break once in a while. Live, breathe, crack a … no. Better that you don't."

"What now?" Fenris asked curiously.

Hawke rolled her eyes. "Smile."

"No," Fenris said insipidly, eyes dark and mean locked onto hers.

"It wasn't a command. It was more of a suggestion," Hawke corrected with haste.

"I humbly reject your suggestion," Fenris said in tones of unconvincing chivalry.

She sighed. "See that's where you're mistaking. You don't have to try so hard in firing at me," she said with a smile and stretched her arms. "Because the truth is the only thing that's offending me is your face."

A ghost of a smirk came upon his face before he rolled his eyes. "The feeling is mutual. Speaking of which – talk to me when I'm drunker. You will be damn good-looking then."

That was not really the way he spoke to her though. That last sentence had all the strength and abruptness of a quickly crumbling elf, falling deep into the ale of his own denial. Not only was she loud and all there – her presence, her voice, her gorgeous hair, her big tampering eyes, her extremely womanly body, and sadly, her personality – but he couldn't seem to get her out of his head.

"Speaking of which, I would slap you for that pretentious comment, but I don't want to make your pretentious face look any better," Hawke fired back with a laugh and pretended she wanted to slap him as she sat down at the table with him.

She locked her uppity gaze at him.

It annoyed and enchanted him.

"Oh, you just can't keep your hands off of me, can you?" Feris asked with a smirk.

"Yep. I'm quite taken with you. I think about you all the time when you're not with me and I just feel this urgent need to- to-," she pretended grumpily and shook her head while gesturing with her fist. "Damn, I can't quite put my finger on it."

"I think of you when I'm lonely too," Fenris said without looking at her. He took another sip from his ale. "Then I am content to be alone."

How insanely talented they were at telling each other the truth in the tones of mean and tones of bark.

"You sound reasonable... time to up my medication ," Hawke said grumpily and took his pint to drink from it.

"Pfteh," Fenris muttered in annoyance. "Drunken witch."

She dropped the pint with a loud bang on the table as she finished drinking her cocktail of nonchalance. "I've been called worse by better."

* * *

><p>"Never mumble some sarcastic shit to somebody who can obviously fuck you up," Varric used to say. Well now, obviously they had both secretly and solemnly swore in their mind – in those dire few seconds after his impertinent mage accusations when they first met – that this was a challenge worthy to take on. And set on fire. And throw alcohol in afterwards. And some combustion grenades for decorative purposes.<p>

Yes, they were both terribly stubborn. Life was not fair, it simply was a bit fairer than death. Death was like a woman on her period that, as far as he came to understand, consequently needed to get whatever she wanted whenever and however she wanted to – or to hell with all the quiet and peace. Yes, Death was stubborn. And neither of them feared death.

After all, battles shared were battles won. Right from the start, in her eyes, Fenris was an annoying wiseass who tended to make everyone he met want to suddenly kill him. Thus, when she had that much in common with someone, she couldn't help but like him a little.

Darting back to the bright and shiny present, he resolved to snap out of his massive brooding and remember what she last said. "Back with the insults then." Ah, yes.

"Whatever makes you happy," he said nonchalantly, lying back on the bed as if he were destroyed by exhaustion. "Ugh." His tone was flat. "I am dead."

"Dear lunatic, whatever put you in an early grave?" Hawke asked in pretend-amazement.

His eyes were closed, but he grumped with the same constant talent. "You."

She quickly raised her eyebrows.

He put a weary hand over his face. "Looking for you into every gutter and barrel in half of Antiva City – to be more specific." She encircled the bed and went by his side, watching him.

"Only half?" she mused lightly with a smile.

"Halfway through I stopped and asked myself how I would feel if I were in your shoes." Then he grinned deviously and arched an eyebrow. "Then I realized I would have liked to be thought a lesson."

Hawke raised her eyebrows and grinned flirtatiously. "And here I thought you promised you'd give me a thorough disciplining with a more physical approach."

Fenris brushed his hair fastidiously away from his face. "Ah, I'd forgotten about that. You are quite right, though." He rose only on his elbows and smirked. "With your reckless and impulsive behaviour, no doubt you should have spent more time over someone's knee."

"Are you inclined to volunteer?" she asked playfully.

"Please," he said meanly, his voice the very sound of rolling eyes, and dismissing her with a grimace. She grimaced back mockingly, but shortly after, he reassumed his arrogant smirk. "Do I have a choice? One could hardly call it volunteering when it seems all the existing and invented gods from all possible religions and creeds are weeping, screaming and thrashing," he gestured in-between, "sending thunders from the skies as they do so, pleading and begging for someone to do it."

"Ah, right. You're truly without faults, aren't you?" she asked musingly while crossing her arms. "Mythologizing yourself already as a cruel victim of fate turned suddenly into a hero overnight." She started pacing and gesturing mockingly with joy. "Hurtled into the chaos that I bring on this world with my impossible persona, and there you are," she stopped and stretched her arms, "the mighty Fenkis McBraveheart coming to forever leave the burn of his Mighty Palm of Holy Judgement over my impertinent buttcheeks."

Calm, joyful sarcasm. Good sign.

"Well, it is not a duty for the faint-hearted," he said arrogantly and grinned at her with half-lidded eyes. "And such an imperative duty it is."

Wait, why was his tone so…? Holy Mother of… or better yet Santo cazzo di Madre… to better fit the scenery. She froze for several too many seconds, wondering if she should pinch herself and see if she didn't happen to be dreaming. That was not sarcasm. That was _not _sarcasm, was it? For the first time **ever**, and for all intents and purposes, Fenris flirted with her –deliberately _and _correctly. Suddenly, she wondered what exactly changed. Alas, her mind was on strike and the world went on. It seemed a good time to stop staring at him with an idiotic look of disbelief and say something.

"I… uh…" she stuttered, her throat stiffening. Maker's breath, whatever came over her? She felt completely disarmed for once, for no apparent reason. She felt like a shy little girl, suddenly clumsy and awkward, with her tongue crawling in a cowardly box of unjustified shame.

"You- uh?" Fenris demanded with a dark, piercing look and a quiet air of masculine superiority.

_PLEASE go back to the insults. Just one little, stupid, even unoriginal snarky comment. A small '_Hey! Look into the mirror and, all ye proud people of Kirkwall, behold the laughing-stock of half of Antiva's well-trained assassins, the impossible clown mage dressed in clothes gayer than Senechal Bran's pretentious risen eyebrow'_. No? Is that too much to ask? Maker's bloody breath, what in the dreaded pits of the Void is with me this morning?_

"I am inclined… to… endorse… with your… perspective… of things," she mumbled. A wild comparison, but almost regrettably accurate in terms of how she felt she looked like, was that she behaved like a psychotic noble half-dying in seizures at the cruel fate of an untreated case of syphilis. Remarkably common and pathetic way to die between the nobles, 'twas true. Seneschal Bran was first on her secret wishlist. No doubt, unbeknownst to the public eye, the man returned her feelings with the same amount of undisclosed joy.

Fenris arched an eyebrow. "Are you… having a stroke?"

"No, I'm just being sarcastic," Hawke lied quickly. "And tired." Let that sentence be at least half-true and the Maker could frown and bark later.

"You are always sarcastic," Fenris muttered quietly.

She pressed her lips. "Nope. Sometimes I'm asleep," she mused.

His eyebrow remained up. "Be that as it may, what I meant was that the nature of your statement which you allegedly deem as," he gestured quotation marks, "_sarcastic_, did not really match your tone."

"I decided I should leave people to guess the nature of my statements without giving away so many helpful hints," she smiled with a shrug.

"Without a matching tone, you would sound like an idiot," Fenris said rather calmly.

"I don't mind. Thinking I'm an idiot gives people something to feel smug about," Hawke said with a wide grin. He was probably put in the pile of those people. "Why should I disillusion them?"

Fenris gazed at her flatly. "Why don't I believe you?" he asked with half-lidded eyes, an obvious edge in his voice.

"Well who died and made you Lord Seeker of Truth?" she asked meanly and crossed her arms. She was not grumpy or angry. Good sign.

"I do not truly know," he said, and cupped his chin. "All I saw were the purple velvety boots of the person in question, when I bowed knightly and the honorary title had been bestowed upon me sword-on-shoulder as the rite of chivalry commonly goes." Her eyebrow was reaching the heavens as he said it. He smirked at her and shrugged, "What? You've heard what I named my sword."

"Half of that name fits. What do roses have to do with this fantastical scenario?" asked Hawke, pacing to and fro as if she was a Guard-Captain interrogating a suspect.

"They are purely decorative," Fenris said calmly. "Like your sarcasm."

She grinned. "And here I was thinking you were a bit _slow_ like the time it takes for a rose to bloom, what with so much asking and not knowing anything," she said with half-lidded eyes.

… Ah, that smile, which was undoubtedly a pretty feature, was never so pretty as when her sprightly little phrase had a scratch lurking in it. Which was always the case.

This Fenris resolved to forever hold in his soul. It was her charm. It was her aura. Yes, it was her soul. Fearlessness and creativity in pure form, and converted into sarcasm and wit for the outside world to better understand.

He pressed his lips and gave her a smile. "Exactly my point."

"The Knight sure does like his pretty delicate courteous maidens with the sense of humor of a dining table," she muttered.

"Why, aren't you the well-informed one about the Knight's secret fancies this fine morning?" he asked mockingly, deep flat tone nonetheless.

"The only thing in that sentence that's correct is _morning_," she said and crossed her arms again. "So much for the truth part of your honorary title."

Fenris chuckled briefly. "Well I hear one does not accomplish much by using the truth in the business of chasing pretty delicate courteous maidens."

"Good thing I'm not a pretty delicate courteous maiden," she said confidently.

His grin grew devilish. "Good thing indeed." He closed his eyes again with nonchalance. "Yes, you are about as delicate as the titanic blow of a mighty hammer and as courteous as the savage battle cries of barbarian conquests." He weaved his hand dismissively, eyes still closed. "Thus it is automatically assumed that you are out of my area of interest."

_Blasted, I should've seen that one coming. Cheap victory, Fenris. Cheap victory._

"Oh, why aren't you a big load of crap this fine morning," Hawke said meanly.

"Indeed, it is a fine morning," Fenris said flatly, waving.

"Such rudeness, Sir," Hawke mused. "Why must you wound me?"

"Believe me, sometimes that seems to be the only thing in the world which makes perfect sense to me," Fenris muttered, everlasting grump in his flat tone. "Consider it a necessary evil."

"A little too soon to already be joking about that," Hawke said with a crooked smile.

Kaffas. Of course… how could he forget. He was joking out of context. He didn't mean to muse about what happened the night before, when he brutally assaulted her in his cruelly idiotic fit of murderous rage. His face grew dark and his smile died in an instant. "I apologize for that." He swallowed heavily, reality hitting him square in the jaw. "Truly I can't begin to-"

"You know I'm a firm believer in letting everyone follow their natural course of thoughts and choose to make their own decisions and yadda yadda –don't get me wrong, but…" Hawke started abruptly and exhaled. She raised her finger at him and bent forward. She locked her firm, decisive eyes onto his startled, carefully listening ones. "If you so much as give me another tormented look of guilt or shame and think yourself low, that you've done wrong by me or something," she said as he listened to her with eyes wide open, "So help me Fenris, I will _murder_ you."

Silence. He remained silent. Swallowed heavily as he said it. Their gazes remained locked together while she waited for him to reply. Violence, yes. Threatening with violence –those were not the threats heavily infused with mockery of a sarcastic girl, nor were they some faintly whispered platitudes of some defenceless high aristocratic maiden . One could only guess how powerfully a strange woman like Hawke must have felt for him at the moment, truthfully threating his worthless bones. She looked rather irresistible to him now. How long before actual violence though? There was still time.

"Do you understand?" she pressed in a high tone.

"Affirmative," he stated in a perfect flat tone.

"Over and out," she said cockily, standing up straight again.

"Suddenly it seems only fair that I should make my own list of regrets on my deathbed," he said innocently, remembering her saying the same thing the night before when he tackled her. Ironically yes, now he was the one being threatened in all the seriousness of tone that Hawke could show him for three or more seconds in B-sharp before her tone would automatically go back in the more familiar B-snark. "I shall trust that you give me a proper eulogy, if it comes to that."

"Nothing like a bit of irony with those famous last words, eh?" Hawke said strongly. "I suggest you have breakfast first."

Fenris broke into soft laughter. "Everything. Everything in the time I have spent in your company was pure irony."

"Then I guess there's no need for irony to make a special effort today," Hawke said calmly and turned for the door. "See you downstairs."

His voice came abruptly commanding from behind. "You are not going anywhere."

Fenris could have tried to abstain from dragging her back by the old blue coat, but then again, like all the others times in the dark pits and catacombs, he didn't. More importantly, he didn't want to. With all the force in his weary bones, he quickly caught her by that clownish coat and she flew right back and fell on him with a _What the f-._ Her cheek landed bumping into his, all afire with predictable inconvenience. Her red hair cascaded all over his chin, his neck and his chest, and his arms were encaging her strongly by the waist. He held her tighter and inhaled, perhaps to test how much one can press before she lost her temper and set him on fire. Or worse, hit him. Taunting death right before breakfast was just another Tuesday for him.

"Yes?" she asked, calm and contained, but her cheeks said otherwise.

Fenris kissed one of those incredibly angry and revolted cheeks with all the power and firmness of a quite exhausted, still sleep-deprived, but fairly fighting-fit young man.

"Now you can go," he said calmly, eyes alight with a sudden sensuality to match his victory.

"If you are going to do that, would you mind not jostling the bed so much while you're suffocating me?" Hawke said in protest.

Fenris arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Perhaps you could roll around and down on the floor then."

"Perhaps not," she said calmly. "I'd rather take my chances with the lunatic in my bed."

"Technically it is my bed," Fenris said flatly, running his fingers softly at the back of her hair with the perfect mask of nonchalance.

"Well if you really want to swim in pretentious technicalities, then I guess you really lost _the bet_ this time," Hawke said and smiled arrogantly at the last word.

"Not quite," came Fenris's deep and firm tone that said he had a following persuasive wiseass argument. "But if you really wish me to lose the bet, I will find the time to go in a dark corner and weep," then his green eyes closed halfway with an air of sensuality and his voice grew deeper, "after I apologize to the patron for the bed breaking."

One must give him credit for managing to say in one decisive sentence that he was both a sensitive and a savage man with a particular fancy, beyond the intended sarcasm. The last part though, not very sarcastic, mind you. What she saw and heard was a genuine masculine ardent vibe of firmness and singular desire for her. She was melting in his grip now, overly seduced by his confident words with the fullness of a tigerish appetite. Yes, what Fenris was to her, now more than ever, was almost helplessly irresistible.

Ah, pull yourself together.

"Said the elf who kissed my cheek as if he's saying goodbye to his aunt," she said sharply, taunting eyebrow arching to the skies, indomitable eyes locked onto his.

He swallowed heavily and appeared he was trying to say something.

"I'm trying to treat you like a lady," Fenris said finally, hands still clutching at her waist, more for fear of falling in some dark pit of angst with that sudden honest confession. Gazing at her big lovely eyes, he waited stiffly for her answer.

"Aw, that's sweet," Hawke said with a smile. "Now knock it off." She caught him by the back of his head and made him push his lips into hers with all the passion of an equally tired being and all the more stubborn to play woo-the-funny-warrior-mage for a few seconds. In this newly appointed state of affairs, Fenris quickly grasped harder around her waist and clamped her mouth with a more ardent kiss. Petal-soft, yet equally strong, the motion of their lips grew more fervent as she ran her fingers more aggressively through his hair. The cresting pleasure in his bones could kill an army with a single blow had it been possible to convert it to hostility. But he didn't dare to force her mouth open while perfectly sober. She turned her body around on him while still locking them in their fiery kiss, and held it there for several moments, Fenris losing himself to her maddening command. Only not entirely, for his body was issuing more urgently.

There he sought to hold her still, grasping tightly around her back ever more pressed against him, kissing her once, kissing her twice, woulda-shoulda a thousand more times had the thought travelled in his mind that this might be their last, refusing to let her go.

He was in Hell. As his hands inadvertently gripped tightly at her hips, Hawke withdrew suddenly. His green eyes flinched and quickly protested. His face, of course, was flushed; much altered. His frown of inconvenience was almost unbearable.

"Not enough?" Hawke asked playfully.

"No," Fenris said with an edge to his voice, not a chance to yield his scowl.

He drew her close again stubbornly and very fast with his assertive grasp, and she kissed him again, remarking through her laughter that he was a veritable furnace of passion. It didn't occur to her, or to him, that this was the first and most perfect positioning of their bodies they had woken up being in for the sole purpose of playing around with fire – featherlike on top of him, not crushing him with some tremendous weight, legs parted and encaging his hips, open way for him to press her down and grab her by that one of maddening round parts of her he desperately wanted to touch again, but didn't have the chance to since that one night a million years ago. This was the one thought that didn't seem to have arrived into their sanctum of reason.

Although something _did _arrive. Knocked. Never mind the ears she had previously licked some days ago in the carriage. There was another pointy part of Fenris going after her now.

"You're awfully ripe for a dead man," Hawke said with a grin, in-between a heated kiss.

"I prefer to die well-endowed," came Fenris's voice deep with arousal, then drew her back into his urgent hungry lips.

* * *

><p><strong>A few of those long minutes later…<strong>

"All I see is a fancy bed with a not-so-fancy half-dead elf growing roots to it," Varric muttered angrily as they opened the door.

"Oh this isn't over," Isabela said in annoyance.

"Would you stop bullshitting the bullshitter, Rivaini?" Varric sighed and walked away. "You're ruining my already ruined morning."

Isabela stretched her arms wide in frustration. "She _was _there! You gotta – "

"Who?" she heard Fenris ask hoarsely as he rose wearily from the bed, rubbing his eyes with the slowness of a dazed person.

The violent frown on Isabela's face was dangerously close to escorting it with an even more violent punch in his face. But frowning caused wrinkles. She didn't need that kind of trouble. This wasn't over. She walked away without so much as a proper "Mornin', dollface".


	20. Trust The Word Of An Antivan

**Notes on this chapter: So, have you wondered how it would be like to see Zevran and Armand go all over Fenris with giving him advice on love? Well, there you have it. Oh, trust me. Your jaw will drop. At least Fenris's will.**

* * *

><p><strong>A few of those long seconds before…<strong>

"What were you saying earlier?" Fenris asked her in-between the now more than ever heated kisses. "That I was a furnace of passion?"

She continued the ardent kiss, and for a moment she muttered, "I don't quite remember." She kissed him again. "I cannot trust my mouth in these situations."

A belated gasp came upon her after Fenris suddenly and with no shame grabbed and harshly squeezed the roundness at the back of her pants.

"Well what about now?" he demanded with a devil's contained smirk. He gave her pale neck a kiss with as much gentle a peck as the opposite way in which his hand was making its conquest on her.

"I'm positively parched," she said with a smile.

She bent down on him again and he caught her hair with his free and more polite and knightly hand and ran his fingers through it as to bring her closer. His right hand was a despicably evil scoundrel and had a mind of its own; and he felt shameful pleasure from it, considering how long a time it had been since that one night in the courtyard a million years ago when he first cupped a feel. And that was only a game, because she did it first as means to annoy the hell out of him. How unfortunate for her, that she didn't even remotely foresee the hell she did bring out of him. Now his hand came back from the dead and sought to bring that hell with it voluntarily.

However, in such moments where logic was obliterated straight from that one fascinating source called _the brain _– fascinating because it never seemed to be servicing him with its originally intended functions – he resolved to ignore it and let that dreaded evil hand of his do as it pleased to the limit of her permissions. Yes, she seemed to be quite alright with it. Her cheeks were flushed and burning horribly as his tongue moved serpentlike into hers. And positively parched.

Oh, such deceitful euphemisms for one who detests all euphemisms, and with reason. He kissed her hard and eagerly and felt her body soften, felt her lock to him for one precious instant, and then the flash of icy coldness as she pulled away.

Fenris's scowl of inconvenience honoured her with its appearance the millionth time that morning.

"Do you hear that?" she asked in a sudden rush.

_Yes, it is the sound of utter exasperation, magically brought out from me in insanely gigantic amounts, which is highly ironic considering it is the work of an impossibly tiny being in comparison._

But not a second passed and his long elven ear twitched, as his senses came back too to honour them with an appearance. There were two separate pairs of footsteps. One loud and hunky, accompanied by quieter tones of comedy. One more cat-like, accompanied by way louder tones of bullshit. One could easily be fooled in trying to guess which belonged to who from the two rogues, really.

One could even manage to decipher their conversation.

_Something-something-something – breasts_, Isabela

_Something-something-something –bullshit,_ Varric.

Yes, now the thought finally arrived into their sanctum of reason, that Hawke was all on top of Fenris in a bed in which she was previously tackled to death, then slept in with him beside her, and in which they were presently exploring the depths of each other's mouths as if to be sure neither would be drowning in fever.

They quickly shared an awkward, stunned look of what-the-hell-do-we-do-now. Perhaps she could get away with saying Fenris magically choked on his own self-hatred and she resolved to save him by giving him a proper mouth-to-mouth taste of her own self-righteousness.

She wondered what would have been the more mind-blowing news either from that, her sudden return, or the simple fact that she was in his room without a black eye to match her historical discourtesy.

"Shit," she said and tried to get off of him. He caught her in place with a look of irritation. There was still time, _apparently_.

"Just for the record, because I will surely forget what with my mind going terribly numb for about a month now," Fenris started with an edge to his tone. He caught her firmly by the collar of her coat and brought her only an inch away from his bright and angry eyes. She looked at him startled and listened to him when he said in a very dominant tone, "I cannot quite articulate what has been going on for the last month, but now that I have got you," he grasped her coat tighter and brought her even closer to his eyes to make it clearer, all while breathing tigerishly on her face with an air of complete determination, "I am not letting you go."

He wasn't pertaining to _right now_, she got that much.

…But the statement threw her off completely. The footsteps became louder. Her brain was becoming deafer.

"You're not?" she almost whispered with eyes unbelievably stunned.

Fenris stared at her unyieldingly in irritation. As if he didn't know her game by now once they would return to Kirkwall. "Do you think I'm an idiot?" he asked with a scratch in his tone.

"No," Hawke said, still caught in his impossible grip and nose bumping into his. "I've just escaped from a den of idiots yesterday, so I'm well familiar with the breed, and you're something else entirely." Fenris narrowed his eyes with annoyance most adorable and she narrowed her eyes as well, with determination most profound. "I am, however, hoping you're not a terribly good shot." She showed him her fist.

Of course. Violence. His eyes were rolling and reaching the back of his head.

But not a moment passed and Fenris exhaled and quickly caught her by the hips and pushed her on the side. The sound of footsteps and of their voices suggested they were going down the hallway now. Yes, his mind was indeed, numb, because there was no more time now. He looked to his right and saw Hawke going for the window.

"Did you leave the window of my room open?" she asked quickly. (He had previously appointed himself gatekeeper and held her key in his pocket because, as he ever-so nicely pointed out, she was a giant klutz and if she would somehow get in her hands the key that held the universe together, shortly thereafter the Apocalypse would certainly be upon them)

"Yes, but what does that–"

"See ya," she waved nonchalantly. In a blasted second she turned into a black bird and took off.

Oh, so she was the bird which showed up and startled everyone when it caught the wheel from the puzzle in its talons and dropped it to them all with the pretense of going to "take a leak." Numb yet again, for the thought didn't really have time to travel in his mind that he should now become mortified with Hawke turning into _a bird. _As if that was just another Tuesday. Well, yes, it was just another Tuesday indeed, all with the crazy and the inexplicable darted everywhere around them as if they were silently begging for it. Wonders… wonders… He was growing too old to finish that sentence. The redundancy of it was almost repugnant.

His head fell on the pillow much to pretend he was asleep and just the same to cradle the collapse of his poor little mind. Too many wondrous calamities and ancient sorceries for one day. And the next fifty years at least.

* * *

><p><strong>A few of those moments later…<strong>

Fenris came out of his room after Isabela gave him the murderous look that said she was going to hurt him soon. Whatever did he do?

"Varric!" resounded Hawke's voice most joyful further down the hallway.

"Hawke!" Varric shouted and to everyone's shock now in the hallway, he hugged her by the waist with the mighty grip of a lion. "Andraste's ass I thought you were dead."

Her voice and face came very smug as she hugged him back tightly, "Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm sorry oh mighty indestructible princess, I have a great imagination and I can't help not using it," Varric said sarcastically.

"Oh, thank those stupid gods, I thought I would have to go beg Armand to give me some money," Isabela shouted and came to hug Hawke too. "Now _that _is a pathetic way to die."

"Ah, I love how you stay so true," Hawke said joyfully and pat Isabela on the back. Her eyes came now on Fenris. It was high time one of them pretended they just came across each other.

"Glad I'm not dead?" Hawke asked Fenris with a smile while still in Isabela's hug.

"I knew you weren't dead," Fenris said calmly, leaning on the wall with his arms crossed. Hawke's throat stiffened fearing he would blow her cover, but he shortly drew up a smug grin to match his smug posture. "There'd be terrified little angels and spirits crossing the Veil all desperate to get away."

She narrowed her eyes and pretended to scratch the air for his stinging comment.

"How are you? What happened?" Varric shouted impatiently.

"Oh, nothing much," she said calmly. "What about you?"

"Cut it Pantaloons before I shoot you in the face," Varric demanded seriously.

"Ah, fine," she said and her shoulders sank. "I saw the Warden. More like hallucinated. You know? Zevran's wife? I took off to chase her thinking if I impress her enough with my stunning acrobatics we might just stop at some street café in the city and share war stratagems, listen to her stories about the Blight and discuss the fate of Thedas over tea. Then I kinda blacked out and I woke up in the Bone Pit with some elf reciting poetry to me in Antivan. After that I thought I'd just sleep it off."

Little did she think to take into account that she had not yet told Fenris about the waking up in the brothel with an elf part and he would quickly misinterpret and in good reason. She didn't seem to be lying about anything else, so this had to be true just as well.

This was very quickly the case. She looked across Isabela at Fenris who was still leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, but giving her a very dark, flat look through his hair which could only mean _murder_. The claws of his gauntlets were a squeeze away from drawing out blood out of his arm.

Great…

Meanwhile, Varric lifted his eyebrows in amazement and shook his head. "And there came the most calm and equally crazy sentence said in history since Andraste told Maferath: _Despair not for your betrayal was Maker-blessed and it returned me to His side_."

"Since when do you know the Chant of Light?" Hawke asked with a laugh.

"Hello? Are you deaf? Blind? Hit in the head?" Varric shouted in protest and stretched his arms. His tone was very friendly in its sincerity, "Worried and mortified for two days straight, Hawke."

Hawke remained silent and seemed to ponder something as she frowned. She retained that frown as she looked at both Varric and Fenris. "You two are weird. I'm gonna take a bath now."

* * *

><p><strong>Sometime later<strong>

Finally after so much time spent in those clothes in the filth and havoc of those Antivan catacombs, she could take a bath. A long, hot, well-deserved damn bath. She went down the stairs of the palazzo-inn and into the bathing rooms all made of luxurious white marble and adorned with wall-hanging perfumed roses. It was most beautiful.

Just when she was about to go to the ladies room of those charming and breath-taking premises, she heard the silent flaring nostrils of murder greeting her from behind.

"Taking a bath are we?" came Fenris's flat tone.

"No, I am," Hawke said calmly as she turned around.

"A wise choice," Fenris replied nonchalantly as he approached her. "All with cleansing the filth off from your recent _adventuring_."

"That's usually how a bath goes," she replied with a lifted eyebrow.

Fenris studied her for a second, as if she had a spot on her face. They locked their gazes together as she kept her arching eyebrow.

"Well… I'm off to my bath now," she said impatiently and turned around.

His nostrils flared and he turned around to go. "That one will not be enough," he muttered with masked insipidness.

Hawke turned back with a frown and asked in a controlled tone, "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Fenris stopped his pace and turned his head half-way with nonchalance. "It means what it means."

"Oh, I was afraid _meaning _was making a special effort not to be annoyingly redundant today," she said with a scowl.

Fenris returned her scowl in silence. Finally he said in a tone of inconvincible tranquility, "It has recently lost its ambition."

"Well why don't you make an effort to bring it back?" Hawke demanded firmly.

"I don't see the point in trying," Fenris said insipidly.

She sighed and crossed her arms. "Maybe you could borrow some from that high ambition of your passive aggressiveness. That one seems to be plenty loaded."

"My what?" Fenris asked with an indomitable gaze.

She sighed. "Why are you here?" Hawke fired back to destroy his stubborn deflections.

He remained calm and content. He pointed at his old clothes. "The same reason you are."

"Oh, to cleanse yourself from the filth of your recent adventuring," Hawke said while accentuating the words. "I'm sure."

Fenris turned his gaze to the men's room and his face became a little weaker in hiding his annoyance. He took off towards it as he muttered quietly, "Not _my _adventuring."

The impossible scowl on Hawke's face couldn't get any bigger. She lost her temper. "How about you look me in the eye when you call me a whore?"

Fenris flinched and turned around. She kept her self-assured and strong gaze locked onto his quickly crumbling one.

Cornered and such, he turned his gaze straight to her eyes and calmly said, "I tend to tell the truth when I look you in the eye."

She crossed her arms again. "Do you also tend to stand still when you stare Death in the eye?" she asked with a heightened annoyance toned.

"Not really, although I prefer to die well-informed," Fenris said calmly.

"Well, then," Hawke said with an edge to her voice. "Good thing you didn't look me in the eye or your famous last words would have been belonged to the land of insane and wild exaggerations." She uncrossed her arms as he watched her firmly. "You can add that to your list of last regrets, since it's uncharacteristic of you to be _unfair_, right?"

"That is quite right," Fenris said with a chivalrous nod. "The only question remaining," he said and lifted his eyebrows as he looked up, "is if Death has any more interest with me," he lowered his gaze back at her with half-lidded eyes, "now that I haven't explicitly stated my insane and wild exaggeration."

Hawke finally smirked and rolled her eyes. "She's fairly annoyed with you and your clever semantics," she said, then innocently mused, "but she'll live. If that makes sense."

Fenris returned her smile shortly and he lowered his head in shame and scratched his head. "It seems I've dodged a fatal arrow there, haven't I?"

Ah, it would have been stupid to be mad at him now. She couldn't expect him to be fair with expressing his doubts, jealousy or discomfort properly, unless it was through anger and violence. And he did vow in his mind that he would never lose his temper with her again. She had to appreciate that.

She'd have to give him a medal.

"Next time, you can save us both some time and nerves and simply ask," Hawke said with a smirk.

"How simple it sounds, yet in practice," Fenris said with an ashamed sigh. "A bit more complicated than that."

"Well, that's what I'm here for!" she said with a joyful kind of grump. "Explaining and reminding everyone they're idiots."

"How generous and not at all arrogant of you," Fenris said sarcastically.

"It's not arrogance when it's the truth," Hawke said with a smug grin. She turned to the door. "Now if you'll –" Fenris approached her from behind. "Uhm."

"Yes?" he asked nonchalantly.

"See this?" Hawke pointed at the sign of a lady with a hat on the door. "This one has a pretentious little hat. Do you have a hat, Fenris?"

He lifted an irritated eyebrow. His tone was calm, "Well can't you just give me your little pretentious _smart-ass_ and I could wear it like one? Half the time it does block my sunlight, after all."

She remained silent for a moment, trying to sink it in with an amused smile. "Wow. You're starting to sound like me."

"Regrettably," Fenris stung calmly.

"Sad isn't it?" Hawke asked cockily with a smile.

"That it is not so _little_?" Fenris asked nonchalantly.

She gave a mocking glance to his butt. "Well now, it would be quite a tragedy if we sounded _and _looked like one another, now, wouldn't it?"

"That seems fair," Fenris said with a smile. There had to be some sarcastic comment lurking in the air. "I think we should focus on the positive side and cherish our differences."

"Pssht. Since when?" Hawke asked unconvinced.

"Since I see it can be rather productive when they come together," Fenris said with a shrug.

"Yeah. Crazy redhead with extreme rage issues on the battlefield and a blue glowing snowglobe of perfect calm and tranquility," she said while shaking her head and stretching her arms. "I see your point. We complete each other yadda yadda, bull-"

"Indeed. And imagine we had a child," Fenris said abruptly while looking away. Hawke froze and her jaw landed somewhere in the Deep Roads.

_Please let there be a follow-up punch-line, _she pleaded in her mind.

Fenris leaned on a wall nearby in slow motions as if to deliberately harrow the pits of the Void upon her with the waiting. He finally continued, "With your quick wit," Fenris pointed and then drew up a smirk, "and my stunning good looks."

_Thank the Maker. _

She resumed her joyful face. "Or with my botched face and your remarkable stupidity."

"Now _that_ would be sad," Fenris said calmly.

* * *

><p><strong>Sunrise, Near the Bridge of Liberty <strong>

Hawke and Fenris had up until now slept together in three different beds.

Three times they had slept together. Next to one another together. Not together-together. But it was still more or less together, wasn't it? He sighed.

His thoughts almost seem to have a striking resemblance to the elven blood mage's inane rambling, to which he would always roll his eyes. Sometimes within, if his head hurt too much because of Hawke's loud voice overshadowing everyone else's. He would always feel a little grateful for that.

First time, it was out of pure fate and necessity, in The Sunken Orlesian's Inn. He was perfectly sober, but he had only just met her. And at that time he was battling between the wondrous idea of simply killing her and the truly starlit idea of only just _slightly _killing her.

Second time, he was dead-drunk. Not the usual even stingier Fenris full of the rampant tones of a mean and grumpy drunk, but past the point of his natural character and down the hill.

Down on the ground.

Uppity back and in her bed.

When he awoke, it seemed only natural that he should be there. Two seconds later he would have really truly hoped that his lyrium haze could also slowly just make him fade away and disappear. Yes, like a withering flower or a vapour in the dessert. A wisp. Poof. Yes, and indeed two more of those seconds passed and only afterwards had it been truly the most awkward moment of his life, because his courage was lost somewhere in the cruel threads of time, and so was hers, all tangled up into a following wind of masked nonchalance. And lest not he forget, he impulsively tackled her with kisses the night before this happened, because at the time, it made perfect sense to him to follow her into her room and glue and sink or melt himself into her simply because he preferred her long and wild crown of thick red hair to the duller-looking and much duller-feeling one coming from a horse that made the outer layer of his armchair.

The third time, well, he was just dead. Correction; he was dead with anger and exhaustion and this time nothing in the world made more sense to him than to throw her on the bed and demand of her to tell him where she went, even if he knew she probably had no idea all with being overly exerted by the lack of health and magic in her by the time they had escaped. As Hawke suddenly showed up and took her really nice, very smooth, much sluggish time to sloooowly build up to her usual number of comedy… he had lost it.

Most times it was rather like an honor to be mad at her.

Yes, one could say she was very _lazy_ with her sarcasm. One could say she put a lot of honest effort into being exactly that. And when she was truly "lazy"_, _he was truly very "nice"with his anger, as if the most impertinent thing he could do was simply to strike her with all the fearsome might of his scowl.

And then came upon morning and it was rather bright and perfect this time.

Except for the fact that, pardon the scratch in the phrase – he woke up with morning wood and she woke up with morning wouldn't.

Ah. Come back, you one thought.

Let us be more organized.

Bed no. 1: Sober, wanted to kill her only slightly in his thoughts, only mumbled in competitive snarkiness upon morning about the bed breaking and such.

Bed no. 2: Drunk, wanted to do something _else_ and very _a lot _to her, and _not _in his thoughts, positively attempted to… what was the word… _jump_ her, no arguing or snarkiness upon morning as he recalled, only yet again mumbled something about not losing the bet because of technicalities and bed breaking and such.

Bed no. 3: Exhausted and dead-worried, angry to the bone, wanted to void her and not in his thoughts, wanted to do a lot more to her and not in his thoughts, wanted to protect her and never let go of her and not in his thoughts.

Yes, now it seemed that the truly one, two actually, very different things – ah, three ideas – about Bed no.3 were – _Make a list, _he screamed at himself.

- That everything he had ever felt for Hawke, all those separate feelings, not only grew more fervent and combined each other into a rampant kettle of boiling blood-rosy soup of emotion, but it, or _they – _all of those feelings into one simply blew out of cosmic proportions.

- Upon morning, although they both had that distinct scratch lurking in their tones, those were remarks made with _calm, joyful, playful _behavior. And deliberate, courageous flirtations. And dragging her into his strong embrace and ardent kisses _without being provoked, _or drunk, or threatened_, _or worried, or angry, or uppity – well, one could argue about **up**pity –

- This had been the best morning of his life.

Joy of joys. That was not sarcasm.

He never guessed. He thought, he pondered, he deduced, he decided. But he never guessed.

And he concluded it was happiness.

Almost content with his triumph, suddenly he also concluded that in all his defensiveness, fear, worry, the numerous shocks he had lived through in the last two weeks… He displaced his perspective. Not entirely, but still.

Yes, yes, he was enchanted by her sarcasm. The fine tunes of sharp and flat coming from him, the mean, the grumpy and the joyful little jokes and the mighty battle of wits galore from both. Yes. But it had been quite a long time since they had truly argued or went at each other's throats. When was that last? … Somewhere possibly down the lines of when she started to thoroughly teach him how to read and write. Preposterous, that was months ago… Sure, some little comments even he could not abstain from doing afterwards. After all, he was an ocean of grumpy sarcastic comments muttered in hush and calm tones, perhaps to be perfectly in tune to match Hawke's loud and joyful equally sarcastic comments – now he realized. They balanced each other out.

He must be remarkably stupid indeed.

They were making jokes. Playing, musing, satirizing, humoring, whatever. Not all of it had some scratch lurking in it. More than half the time that was the case –of simple jokes and having fun, laughing with each other instead of at each other… a half of the other half was more of a snarky-uppity approach, and the other half of the other half was but a mere fullness of _calm and peaceful dialogues_. And they had a lot of those too. Indeed, they had managed to cover almost the whole of worldly and galactic subjects and topics, except little short of their secretive despair, the ghost of their separate pasts and lastly, their true feelings for each other. There was still time for that… Not today. Today, as was yesterday and the day before, and forever tomorrow until _something _or _someone _caught on fire, nothing seemed more appropriate than for them to continue in this manner. Not the secretive, defensive part, but the musing and joking in calm or lively tones part.

They were funny people.

The sky was blue and the grass was green.

Yes, now it made sense.

He was displacing his thoughts and worries to better suit his private fears. He would never forgive himself if he had lost his temper again with such a change in his manner as to almost be on the verge of killing her out of sheer raging idiocy. Or idiotic rage. Both made a fine case out of him after all.

He felt it though. He felt it all, that she understood him, that she accepted him, that she resolved in her mind to even better understand him. That she intended not to defend herself at all because she trusted that he would never do it. And she proved him right. His rage came as quick aflame as those raging flames quickly died. She was ready to understand. Emphasis on the ready. Without pressing him. No, that would be a wicked thing to do. He appreciated this liberty she gave him.

Things were going well, either way.

It was clear now that he had to take delight in this happier turn of events and enjoy it. Enjoy life, enjoy her, enjoy it all, no matter what she chose to do with him. The curious feeling of content, of being fulfilled, of feeling so remarkably free, was but a stone's throw away. He only had to make sure he was not going to deliberately throw the stone in his face, as his unconscious automatisms usually dictated.

Finally, his brooding was slapped away when Armand and Zevran approached him as he was sitting at a white fancy table in front of that restaurant – or more realistically speaking, a more luxurious tavern – with outdoor seating from across the street. They went there in their first night in Antiva City and it seemed perfectly deprived of all souls since the sun had barely even risen yet.

The chilly morning was accompanied by a very beautiful mantle of fog all around the city. It made all the colors simply become more radiant and contrasting to the current air of coldness and paleness that Mother Nature had bestowed upon the world.

"His face does have a brooding sensuality to it, you were right, my friend," Zevran said joyfully as they each took a seat at the table.

"Pardon?" Fenris asked in sudden discomfort.

"Ah, nothing," Zevran said with a smile and conquered the table with his fine elbows. "We were just discussing beauty. The beauty of dead people."

Fenris lifted an eyebrow and looked down around himself. "I seem awfully flushed for a dead man."

"That's because you are alive," came Armand's sharp and flat tone.

_Obviously, _Fenris thought grumpily. But then it hit him that Armand's rare-if-ever humorous remarks seemed indeed, rare, because he was much more clever and subtle with his approach. While appearing to say a mere serious, dull platitude, what Armand actually intended was to say "Do not be so hasty. He said the _beauty_ of dead people and you are much alive. Obviously, you think too highly of yourself."

Thus his laughter came belated, but at least it made an appearance. "Indeed perhaps I was a bit hasty."

Armand smirked at last and Zevran resumed his louder speeches. "Ah, how did the saying go? From the cradle to the grave? Well I find graves to be insanely useless in my doing of things."

"I'm trying to think of how you will manage to throw the impending perverted punch-line with that sentence," Fenris said grumpily as he rested his leg on the empty next to him.

"That is because there is no impending perverted punch-line," Zevran said with a smile. Then his smile turned into a standalone grin. "Although…"

Armand rolled his eyes. "Way to put ideas in his head, Fenris."

He returned a smirk. "I see we're on a first name basis now. Or should I say real name basis."

"Yes, and see how quickly it died out when you managed to annoy me?" Armand said grumpily and sighed. He resumed his sharp familiar Antivan scratch with his saying, "Back to little bitch it is."

"This is most curious," Fenris said in a flat tone.

"What is?" Armand asked.

Fenris nodded towards the childishly snorting Zevran. "You seem to have nerves of steel with this one, yet with me-"

"_This one_! As if I'm some common lowly whathisface!" Zevran protested loudly and gestured. "No surprise why Hawke is so snarkity-uppity with you."

"Snarkity… uppity?" Fenris asked in disbelief with a tone that said he thought him an idiot.

"You are a man of few words," Zevran said with a smile and then nodded, "But they are quite enough to make someone wish to kill you within three seconds of meeting you."

"I suspect when she has so much in common with someone, she can't help but like me a little," Fenris said nonchalantly. He knew it to be true.

"Yes you are quite similar, are you not? You must have felt like quite the fool cursed by irony, no?" Zevran said and smiled again brightly.

"You cannot even begin to imagine," Fenris said while shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

"A snarky and peppery fugitive ex-slave from Tevinter meets a beautiful salty Ferelden apostate _right_ halfway through the world in the enigmatic city of Kirkwall. This seems like quite the perfect idea for a dark and sexy romance novel," Zevran said joyfully. "Oh, yes, Dorian must surely try and cook up a draft in the near future! I would love to read something like that."

"I suspect someone has already outrun you in that endeavor," Fenris said grumpily, pertaining to Varric. "Feel free to pester the dwarf about it and leave _me_ alone."

"Haha, oh, well now," Zevran said with a smirk and bent over the table. "I'm living _my _love story." Then he winked at him. "Yours still appears to be tangled up in the imaginary." Straight below the belt he had went, and not just in battle or in bed.

"Just the _one_?" Fenris asked stingingly, raising an eyebrow. "I am truly impressed by your loyalty."

Zevran frowned and the corner of his lips went a bit crooked. Of course he gave an appearance of someone who would hump a chair if there was nothing remotely similar to a living being in sight, but that was just what it was. An appearance. He was more faithful to the Warden than the Chantry and the Templars were on torturing the entirety of the magical race.

Finally he muttered, "Tsk. She must have nerves of steel indeed to have suffered you all this time without giving you a proper and thorough beating."

Fenris lifted his eyebrows. "_She _has to possess the nerves of steel?" He rolled his eyes. "Have you even listened to one word she said in-between strategically cheating on your wife with other little organs than the one which would indeed make it a little like betrayal?"

Oh, you are playing with fire, the Antivan's eyes said.

"You beg for it, my friend. The beating I mean," Zevran said almost with discomfort through his smile. "And how dare you throw such mean accusations on me!"

Fenris shrugged calmly. "You beg for it," he said with an edge. He shortly smirked, "The beating I mean."

"I beg _to differ_," Zevran said and cupped his chin. "I usually make do with at least half a day before someone wishes and tries to kill me." Then it appeared his eyes sparkled as he looked around. "Speaking of which –"

"Oh, I do not wish to kill you," Fenris said nonchalantly and dismissed him with a wave. "Although anything I would say I wish to do to you, you would just turn it to sound like a twisted perversion."

"How true," Armand said with a sudden smirk, as if he was remembering something. No doubt sometime in the past Armand and Zevran did not get along. They were the screaming proof of utterly different existing attitudes and personalities. It was absolutely inconceivable that it could have been any other way than Armand first wanting to gag and kill Zevran within three seconds of him opening his dirty mouth.

"Nope," Zevran said sweetly. "You could say you wish to buy me coffee."

Armand suddenly snorted. "That is Antivan code for shacking up."

"Well, he did not need to know that," Zevran fired back with inconvenience as he turned his head to Armand.

Being in the presence of two men very familiar with _men, _Fenris felt a bit cornered. Indeed, it seemed he had to be a little grateful though. He was quick with his jealousy. First he felt a rush to rapidly hate Dorian and his flirtatious familiarity with Hawke and almost got to the point of beating him up on the road. Then Zevran butting in to steal the glory with his charming advances within three seconds of meeting Hawke and thus within four to really bring his nerves out. Armand was the only one who did not turn him into a ticking time bomb and that was because he managed to find out he was taken with a man. Yes, he had to be grateful for that. Feeling the urge or ending up beating a second gay guy would have looked bad.

"I am quite bewildered as to how you ended up being married," Fenris said calmly, after the sleepy waiter finally brought their morning Antivan coffee.

Curiously, Armand took a sip of the fourth additional coffee he ordered, and then left it alone there.

"Has your eyesight not been working this whole time?" Zevran asked eagerly. "I am a delight!"

"A delight to be brutally offed and out of this world," Fenris completed calmly as he drank his coffee.

"That's exactly what she said to me!" Zevran almost shouted while smiling. Then he stared in blank. " 'Zevran, do not doubt that when we meet the Archdemon, I'm using you and your smug little mouth as an elven shield. If it's as unyielding at being smug as it is at saving my ass, then you shouldn't worry. Darling, don't look at me like that. You should be grateful with me. I am actually trying to be nice and controlled with my urge to simply throw you at it'. Quite the love declaration_._"

Fenris broke into laughter. It startled both the men.

"Is she generally that mean or was she saying that all in good reason?" Fenris asked as he was fairly amused.

"All in good reason," Zevran laughed.

"I respect that," Fenris said and gestured a cheers with his cup.

"Mi cara," Zevran said while sighing. "Not a second passes that I feel I will die if I don't see her again soon."

"You or just one part of you?" Fenris asked in amusement. If one particular part of him died, it wouldn't seem like such a tragedy. No, even if that part was cut off, Zevran would probably still want to have sex.

"All of me!" Zevran shouted happily. "I love her with all of me." Then Zevran painted a very intrusive and triumphant risen eyebrow. "Can you say the same about yourself?"

Consequently, Fenris's throat stiffened and his breathing air ways suddenly blocked. His eyes were empty and he quickly forgot where he was and whatever else that was happening. The chilly fog around them was clearer than the howling confusion in his head.

That word did not belong to his vocabulary. That word did not belong to his anything. And even without making use of that word, he knew little short of less than nothing about what he was doing or what he was feeling for _his_ particular redhead. Who was not even his to call as such.

Suddenly his air of triumph for what happened in the last day had been viciously crushed by one short decisive sentence from an equally short decisive elf.

Curse him.

"Leave him alone," Armand said suddenly. Fenris finally breathed again. "He's utterly clueless."

"Well, _obviously_," Zevran replied confidently while sipping his coffee.

"Oh, wonderful," Fenris said grumpily. He took a sip from his cup, then said, "Why don't you illuminate me."

"Gladly! You see –" Zevran started eagerly.

Fenris dismissed him with his palm. "That was sarcasm."

"I resolve to ignore it," Zevran said confidently, shrugging. "So as I was saying– "

"I do not need advice," Fenris fired back in annoyance.

There came an air of silence from the two other elves, both raising their eyebrows with half-lidded eyes and intending their being quiet to make the strongest possible impression that what Fenris had said was the biggest most impossible little lie since Andraste had told Maferath it was the Maker's.

"Fine…" his voice came very low and quiet as he looked down and started appearing very immersed into admiring the circles in his coffee as he put it down. "Maybe I need a little advice."

_Both_ of them snorted. "A little," they both said.

"Either state your ground-breaking ideas or cease with the inane prodding," Fenris demanded with a very obvious edge in his tone as he squeezed the cup with both of his hands.

"We are a couple of wiseasses are we not?" Zevran laughed while looking at Armand. "But all in good reason, of course."

"Of course," Armand said nonchalantly, almost drawing up a smirk.

"Here is the deal – it does not matter who has the penis –"

Fenris rolled his eyes. "I could swear you would start with –"

"Either shut up and listen or we will cease with the _inane prodding_," Zevran fired back and leaned over to the other elf. "Aren't we, Armand?"

"Very much so," Armand said sharply, resting an arm over the back of his chair.

Fenris rolled his eyes again. He waved a hand grumpily. "Proceed."

"Yielding are we? That is quite a good tactic even it if does not appear so at first glance," Zevran said with a nod and a confident grin.

"Riddles..." Fenris muttered, lifting his eyebrows and looking down. "…Shocking."

"Tsk." Zevran leaned back in his chair and gestured a dismissal. "You are on your own."

"Oh, come on!" came Fenris's sudden angry voice. He was little short of banging his fist on the table. He was abstaining.

"Begging," he laughed. "That you do not want to do," Zevran grinned abhorrently confident. "Unless she finds begging sexy, in which case knock yourself out."

"If she does then I clearly must have mental problems," Fenris muttered sharply.

"Of course you do, regardless of that," Zevran replied. "All people sitting at this table are utterly and irrevocably crazy. Which makes it even better."

"Meaning?" Fenris asked.

"None are better equipped to venture into the unknown and enigmatic lands of love as we crazy people do," Zevran said innocently. "It is a law of Nature. All unbeknownst that She is crazy too."

More riddles. Shocking.

He abstained from commenting.

"But of course all these thoughts are moot," Zevran said surprisingly. "What matters is what to do once we're there. Have you been…" he raised a naughty eyebrow, "…there?"

Fenris frowned in confusion. He didn't know how to answer that.

"He's tested the waters and the waters were shallow," Armand answered calmly for him.

"Oh, I am perfectly sure that he can_ thrust_ deeper," Zevran said with a devilish grin.

"I am perfectly sure I do not understand," Fenris said with a sigh.

"Dear man," Zevran started warmly. He put an elbow on the table and raised his palm to gesture while looking up to gather wit from all-knowing Heaven, all-stranger to him, for if Heaven knew who it was talking to, it would have started weeping with massive showers of rain upon them. "A woman, or a man, it does not quite matter really – but let's call it woman for the sake of your situation – one who is clever enough to dismiss you even with the slightest of scratchy gestures, must be approached with the same amount of sentimental wit."

"And by that he means you need to beat her at her own game with all the gracious respect a gentleman holds for a lady," Armand joined in with a nod.

"And by that of course, he means you have to woo her," Zevran said with a smile. "With an o, not with an e, well - one could argue- "

Fenris's gaze turned from one potentially insane elf to the other with such rapidity he quickly became dizzy and all the more lost.

"_Woo _her?" he asked with the highest that his eyebrow could reach and the most he could sharply articulate the word.

"So being all knight in shining armor until she finally puts out," Armand said rather surprisingly. "That is how it is commonly known to go. If you do that with her," he gestured to the inn with half-lidded eyes, "You can pack your bags and move to little phlegmatic pretentious Orlais with six broken ribs, a black eye and missing one testicle."

"And we all hate it when _that_ happens," Zevran said with closed eyes and approving with his tranquil nods.

"Well, we don't want that, do we," Fenris said with half-lidded eyes and a crooked grimace.

"So what you can do is be a knight in… how should we put it," Zevran said and looked at Armand.

Armand smirked a bit and finished his sentence as if they had lived together for a decade, "Darker armour."

How dramatic. He abstained from commenting.

"And by that we mean this: rather than trying to pointlessly impress her and be all kittens and rainbows," Zevran started while rolling his eyes at the last bit, "simply make do with showing her what nobody hardly ever does –understanding. Accepting. Giving her the helping hand even if she doesn't call for it. Even if she utterly and stubbornly refuses it."

"And of course, cut it with the jealousy," Armand said sharply.

"She confessed that she enjoyed it," Fenris protested.

Zevran shook his head calmly. "No, no, no. It is fine to show her you are threatened. It is fine to show her what a big bad Fenris you can be. _Harrowing Hell_, even I was impressed and a little bit frightened, I must confess," he said with an innocent smile, "But if you are threatened by any man or woman who even remotely looks at her and you act as if she is yours and abuse of that possessive pronoun and stretch it to marvelous, unreasonable extents…"

"You are doomed," Armand finished sharply, arm still resting nonchalantly at the back of the chair.

Fenris didn't seem to be impressed, but Zevran pressed, "Do not doubt that she has or will have other admirers. Of course, she is rather strange, a bit sharp on the edges and a threat to most men and their pretentious masculinity, but there is _always _going to be at least one other man or woman that will not be so threatened."

He couldn't conceive of such a one, but alas. He abstained from commenting.

"I've learned it the hard way," Zevran said with a sigh. "Armand did too, no doubt. Didn't you?"

Armand rolled his eyes very shortly. His tone came very grumpy in its reminiscing, "Fun times."

"Very fun for the one admired, not so much for the admir_er_," Zevran said and narrowed his eyes while clenching his fists a bit on the table. "No, not for us who were secretly abstaining from going at the other's throat, but quickly made do with politely excusing ourselves and crawling into a dark corner to _bark_," Zevran said with a sharp tone.

"I am just filled with joy all with you making all of _us _seem like dogs," Fenris said grumpily.

"If I make us seem like whales or hippity-hippos, would it make you feel any less offended?" Zevran asked while rolling his eyes. "Besides, if we are dogs, then that makes the object of our affection _bitches. _And while we say that with affection it never sounds quite that offensive."

"Yes, it does sound a bit endearing, doesn't it?" Armand surprisingly agreed.

Hawke's mabari, Mojo, was surely smarter and more content than any of the men sitting at the table like such civilized people. Well, the most civilized they could get. Fenris resting a leg on the empty chair beside him, Armand resting his arm at the back of his chair and Zevran conquering the table with his reeking elbows of confidence and widely parted legs under the table. He would not have the stomach to look under it if he dropped something by accident.

"You were saying something about jealousy before going tangled up in animalic terms," Fenris brought it back quickly, since he was growing positively impatient.

"To match our tigerish little appetite and our wolfish little hearts!" Zevran mused with a big smile.

Armand smirked arrogantly. "And our horse-like giant c-"

"Please tell me there's some coffee left for me," Dorian's voice came to save the impending perversion coming from Armand's evermore truthfully shocking dirty mouth.

The words that came out of Armand's usually cold and sharp tongue, now made Fenris's eyes fatally dry from growing wide and his jaw to land somewhere in the dwarven thaigs with full force. Armand's voice was deep and full with warmth in his sharp accent. "I saved you a cup, Amore."

"Thank goodness," Dorian said with a laugh. "You are goodness in a cup."

"I am also a god," Armand said rather arrogantly in his musing. His flirtatious eyebrow and half-lidded eyes were most disturbing.

"I do tend to call on you in bed," Dorian mused with a smirk. He drank his coffee joyfully and resumed listening to the others.

"Like I was saying, there is always room for some other smug bastard to rival in your courtship," Zevran explained calmly. "And you will do well to rival him with perfect tranquility."

"And pretend he doesn't exist," Armand added with a nod. "Once you grant him the right to existence, to hell with all the peace and quiet."

"If she is taken with you, you should not even worry," Zevran said with a shrug. "And trust the words of an Antivan, she _is _quite taken with you."

Fenris snorted at his dramatic comment. "Trust the words of an Antivan? That sounds like quite the contradiction."

"Well, now," Zevran said a bit offended. "Perhaps you would do well to trust the words of _two _Antivans then."

"Perhaps," Fenris said flatly. He took another sip of nonchalance.

"And even with no rival, you should always and always be ready to take her down as well," Zevran said. "Well, besides taking her down into the ever-more-wished horizontal positions. Yes that is the hardest part, is it not?"

"Very hard," Armand said sharply. You could guess he meant it as a clever hidden dirty comment to shortly explain exasperation.

It had been quite easy to take her down into a horizontal position, in fact. But alas, technicalities. He would do well to abstain from commenting. His curiosity was piqued.

"And what would you have me do?" Fenris demanded.

"Press," Armand took the initiative. "Always press. Don't give up. It's stupid."

"Yes, never yield," Zevran said. "Yielding is for _bastards._" For some reason, all with being aware of the history of the group that defeated the Blight, Fenris suspected Zevran was subtly pertaining to a particular bastard now on the Ferelden throne.

"Well that is a big load o'crap with your coffee of stubbornness this sodding morning of self-denial," Dorian surprisingly intervened in irritation. He looked at Armand and Zevran with a very disappointed protest in his eyes. They were both startled. A very tiny elf with now a very decisive outraged voice.

Zevran looked at Armand as if he would know what Dorian meant, but the Antivan shrugged with a trembling lower lip.

"You don't _press, _at least not like a big barking bowl of bestiality," Dorian said firmly.

"Big barking bowl of bestiality!" Zevran shouted. "I wonder how quickly I can say it five times in a row? Let's see. Bi-brking-bo-"

"If you want to make someone stay, then you need to kinda let them go," Dorian said confidently.

Armand frowned a bit. He didn't understand. Zevran only looked as if he had understood.

Dorian sighed and gestured, "You boys are clueless."

"Well now, we do have a penis after all," Zevran protested sharply with a raised eyebrow. "I wonder where yours went."

"It's landed much quicker where I wanted it to land than yours did," Dorian stung back firmly.

Now this was most amusing. Zevran was finally being dethroned. And Armand was ripe and flushed with redness in his once indomitable cheeks.

"Hm, 'tis true," Zevran yielded with an edge in his tone. "Do go on then, precioso."

Dorian resumed his explanation, "Well, if she's all – wait. We're talking about Hawke, aren't we?"

Fenris swallowed heavily. Curse him, he forgot they were friends.

"Well with Hawke I can tell you this," Dorian said and conquered the table with his elbows. He took a sip of nonchalance, and then resumed his grin, "You do not have a chance if you're a pretentious little douche."

"Does he seem like he's little or pretentious?" Zevran asked sarcastically.

Dorian laughed. "No, he's fine. What Hawke dismisses are jerks. He's not a jerk. He's more of a … half-stingy harmlessly-venomous little snake."

"Emphasis on the little snake?" Zevran asked innocently.

"It is not the size that matters, it is where you get to put it, - Adonis, 9:33 Dragon," Fenris mockingly quoted the elf. It didn't matter. Of course, if it did, he would not have to be worried. But he was abstaining from feeling smug about it since Zevran was stealing all that ambition and leaving him careless in that not so little endeavor.

"Ah, you do listen!" Zevran shouted eagerly. "How shocking it is."

"And you do spew perversions whenever a poor little word has the unfortunate fate of being cheaply twisted," Fenris stung back nonchalantly.

"It had been a long time since I made a euphemism," Zevran defended himself innocently. "Truly, you must give me some credit. I tried to abstain for as long as I possibly could."

"He's not bullshitting," Armand said seriously. Then glanced sharply at him, "This time."

"You wound me," Zevran mused with a smile. "And I never did mind a few burns."

"So how does he get to put _it_ there?" Armand asked Dorian shortly thereafter, as if he was actually curious as to why he was protesting and discarding the two Antivans' theories.

"Well first of all, be yourself," Dorian said to Fenris with a sigh. "I don't care what shit you do. First rule of thumb is never stop being yourself. Otherwise you'll probably manage to come to be together, but your stupid fake relationship will just as soon come to an end. You'll become yourself later and then you'll both be surprised of how much a fantasy you built up in your heads that you actually got along."

"That seems only fair," Fenris approved calmly. "What is the second rule?"

"Well since I'm familiar with the particular garden you're trying to reach," Dorian said with a naughty eyebrow, probably to get on Fenris's nerves again and play a little, "I can say very confidently that this applies to me as much as it does to you."

Fenris lifted an eyebrow. "And that is?"

"If she's all defenses and dismissive while still showing that she wants you," Dorian said and gave Armand a very obvious and sharp look, "you just gotta be a little more distant and colder. Just a little. Nonchalant. Joyful. All full of _whatever._" He quickly lifted his cup of coffee as if to make a toast. "Then they be tremblin'."

"You did that on purpose?" Armand asked in sincere amazement and discomfort, his nonchalant arm at the back of his chair falling into sudden not so nonchalant defeat.

"You noticed?" Dorian mused with a snort, drinking the coffee.

"Hardly," Armand said honestly. "Not until much later."

"Well then," Dorian grinned, holding the cup to his face as if it was a symbol of victory, "I mean, don't get me wrong, like I said," he said back to Fenris. "First rule of thumb is to be yourself. I'm just pertaining to how much of _yourself _you should give. Like not throw yourself at them more likely. That's quite about it."

"You actually did that on me, Amore?" Armand protested calmly.

"Well it worked, didn't it?" Dorian said nonchalantly while drinking his coffee. "You ran and ran and I didn't give a fuck. I showed you I gave a fuck through my actions dime a dozen and it was enough and you knew it to be so." Then he gestured all-knowingly with a giant grin. "So you started to show you actually gave that fuck you worked so hard in hiding from me."

"You little fiend," Armand said sharply and caught Dorian by the shoulder, bringing him closer to him. He kissed his head as if he were chaste, but with all the fire of warmth he could possibly show.

Fenris had his brows lifted up to Heaven again. He searched in Zevran some kind of protest.

"Don't look at me," Zevran muttered grumpily, shoulders sunk. "I did the same thing. Or she did. I don't quite remember."

"I can guess," Fenris said calmly, drawing up a smirk.

Zevran shrugged. "Tsk." He cupped his chin. "Although I do remember endless nights of throwing myself at her, all while shortly thereafter – after being so viciously refused over and over again – I slowly learned my lesson and backed off a little."

"And then she came to you?" Fenris asked, curious.

"Well, it was inevitable," Zevran said with a cocky grin. "Or so I tried to point out to her afterwards to save it."

"Did it work?" Fenris asked with a laugh.

"No, she said she seduced _me,_" Zevran chuckled. "Yes, what a saucy little minx she was. She didn't know it to be true, however."

"But, even so," Dorian intervened. "This is Hawke we're talking about. Just like Zev's girl and my big guy," he said with a grin and glanced at Armand, "they're not people to be _really _played with. Trust in your damn little heart. They'll come to you if you let them. Don't stretch it. It's a recipe for destruction."

"Ah, but how can we, when we have such appetite for destruction," Zevran said macabrely in his Antivan accent.

"Though, to be fair, we don't do well with self-destruction," Armand pointed out calmly. He sighed heavily and resumed, "And that brings me to another difficult lesson which only I can truly give to him."

Fenris's ear twitched and he was ready to listen, although growing tired of the endless love lessons.

Armand leaned over the table and gave him a sharp, determined look. "It makes little difference if you kill your master. It doesn't make one shitting copper of a difference." His tone remained very sharp, "Being truly free is in the soul. If you deliberately destroy your soul as if to comfort yourself that you are hopeless, you are doomed. You are doomed and it will be ugly."

Fenris didn't answer. He was swallowing heavily and his hands became shaky, so he quickly hid them in his lap so nobody would see.

"I know how much it cost me. Amore knows too," he continued, giving Dorian a sad glance masked by firmness. His lover nodded only slightly with his eyelids, but only warmth came with it. "And Hawke will know it soon enough."

Scowling even more, Fenris remained silent.

"I am merely saying the truth, I do not mean to scare you out of it," Armand said. "It would be a dumb fucking thing to pull away from something so true and worth our poor little tortured and clueless hearts." Then, to make his statement all the more clearer, he added, "And it would be a fucking insult to our lovers simply because they are ready to take our burden." Then he sighed and shook his head, "Dumb-, dumb fucking thing."

"Dumb it is," Dorian said and went to caress Armand's red hair. "But you were worth the trouble."

"As were you," Armand said with a very warm smile. He took Dorian's hand and kissed it, then squeezed it with a fervor that Fenris wondered if it matched his own or he was simply fooling himself. His mind resolved to block everything from overthinking or shock him, and simply keep watching the two elves in their beautiful romance.

"Ah, love," Zevran said joyfully. "It is not for pure cowards. For half-cowards yes. It turns them into the bravest of men."

"Yeah," Armand said. "You really shouldn't say you love someone unless you mean it." Then he looked at Fenris a bit narrow-eyed. "But if you mean it, you should say it a lot." Then he closed his eyes and shrugged. "People forget."

"Yes, love is when you smile when you're tired," Dorian added tranquilly and glanced at Armand as if he meant him. His returning look confirmed it.

Zevran closed it. "Love is also when you kiss all the time, then when you get tired of a thorough good _kissing_, you still want to be together and talk."

"Yeah, we're something like that," Dorian laughed.

"Indeed," Zevran approved, then looked at Fenris and grimaced with sarcasm. "They look gross when they kiss."

"We have each other to kiss," Armand said confidently. "You only have this." He gestured a very polite up-yours finger.

The sun had barely risen and the day had already been full of wonders.

Antiva was _creepy. _Varric was correct.

But Fenris did have one conclusion, in-between all those raging love definitions his brain was exploding from with utter protest.

Love was, as he suspected, what Armand had done a while ago. He took a single sip of the coffee meant for Dorian before he came to drink it, to see if the taste was just alright.

* * *

><p><strong>Some minutes later<strong>

Varric and Isabela joined shortly thereafter and brought upon holy salvation even with the adjective not even remotely seeming characteristic to any of them.

When Hawke finally showed up, his jaws, his hands, his everything, landed down to the fiery core of the earth.

Yes, Fenris was about to fall off from his chair. She was wearing a simple blue-greenish sundress in which every pretty little curve of her thrashed and shouted without being revealed almost at all.

As if by an automatism, Fenris removed his leg from the empty chair next to him. Hawke quickly took a seat, as it turned out. He unconsciously conquered it to save it for her.

"Wow, get a load of you. You look so pretty. I hardly recognize you," Isabela said with a wicked smile.

"Sadly for you, I still recognize you," Hawke stung back with a smile.

"Hiss," Isabela mused with a wink.

"Well now," Hawke said cockily. "Still alive… and well?"

"Still and both," Armand said with a chivalrous nod. "And I have you to thank for." His tone was sharp and warm. Truly grateful. No other words were necessary between them.

"No need," Hawke said with a dismissing palm of modesty. "I would have done it with my eyes closed."

"Hawke," Dorian said sharply.

She batted her eyelashes in mockery. "Yes, Dory?"

"I am speaking for both of us, and probably all of the fine people at this table when I say – stop being so fucking modest," he almost shouted. "Accept the thank you. You are a damn good woman."

"I am damn good-looking, yes," Hawke corrected defensively with joy. "Thank you."

"How about some coffee of truth with that smug grin of self-denial," Dorian pressed again with a wink.

"Coffee sounds good," Hawke agreed with a nod.

"You know the difference between right and wrong," Zevran intervened.

"Do I?" Hawke asked innocently.

"You know the difference between right _and _wrong," he repeated pressingly. "How do you not rule the world, I cannot possibly conceive. You are a genius, a sage, a giant among men. You have solved the problem which philosophers have been debating since antiquity—the mystery about which no two nations or tribes have ever agreed, and no two men or women have ever agreed, and no intelligent person has ever agreed totally with himself from one day to the next!" Zevran continued in a lively tone. "_You know the difference between right and wrong." _He raised his hands up in the air. _"_I am overawed. I swoon. I figuratively kiss your feet."

She could feel Justice growing green with jealousy all the way from Darktown.

"Why thank you, though no need for such swooning gestures," Hawke said in amusement. "So what's up?"

"Me, Armand and Fenris are now best friends," Zevran said cockily. "Yes, we are quite the funny colorful trio, no?"

"Right. I can tell from the bat wings and the leeches that you three are just all happy-smiles and rainbows," Hawke said with lifted shoulders and a joyful smirk.

"I am the happy one," Zevran said with confident arching brows. "Those two," he gestured, "Well, they're just two of them because they couldn't possibly take me down separately."

"Yes, why don't we test that theory?" Armand asked sharply. He glanced at Fenris. "Care to gag and tie him later?"

"Ah, affection always comes with _strings_," Zevran fired back nonchalantly with a smile.

"Why are you in a dress?" Fenris asked and startled everyone.

The utter silence was broken off by Hawke smiling crookedly and saying, "Well, Lord Seeker of Truth, if you must know, I ran out of clothes."

"Really now?" Fenris asked with a risen eyebrow.

"Yep," Hawke said confidently. "Someone flushed them all."

"Guilty," Isabela said with a shrug.

"Mmmm. I'm sensing a dirty story," Zevran outran Varric in pointing it.

"Not really. Well, if it counts that she saw me naked, then yeah," Hawke said with nonchalance.

Fenris's eyebrow remained there up and paralyzed. Blushing. Much blushing. She didn't seem to notice.

"I knocked her baggage in the bathtub," Isabela said innocently.

"On purpose," Varric added with a nod.

"Well you know how they say – you catch more flies with honey, but drown them straight and you save up on the perishables," Isabela said with playful grin.

"Next time I'm not gonna try saving those _perishables,_" Hawke said stingingly with a wink.

"Muah," Isabela blew her a kiss.

Hawke pretended to dodge it entirely.

"_Hiss_," Isabela fired nonchalantly.

"Oh, you two are a delight," Zevran noticed with ease.

"We're much more of a delight naked," Isabela said with a grin, while making use of knowing how they both looked like.

"Hm. Well, I must disappoint you," Zevran said with a sigh. "Whatever you lovely temptresses would look like, my eyes automatically hallucinate mi cara and that is all I see from then on to eternity."

"I heard you the first nine times," Isabela said with an edge. "I got your drift."

"Well I'm insistent like that," Zevran said sarcastically, mirroring her own insistence.

"You think too highly of yourself," Isabela said in defense. "For a short person."

"Ah, now why do you sting?" Zevran said in protest and dismissed her with a childish wave. "Tsk. _Assassinate _that attitude."

"Well that was a crappy pun," Varric laughed and made a pun himself for mockery, "Which is kind of a pleonastic _redundancy_."

"I'm all _pun_-sexual like that," Zevran said with a shrug.

"Like pansexual, but with a pun?" Hawke asked in amusement. "Pantastic."

"Funny," Varric said cockily. "How about we go back to the higher forms of wit."

"They say that sarcasm is actually the lowest form of wit," Armand said calmly.

Hawke snorted. "Well they've obviously never met me."

"Obviously," Fenris articulated with an unexpected smirk.

"We're all kings and queens of utter sarcasm back in Kirkwall," Hawke said joyfully. "Yep," she gestured, "We check our parachutes and launch ourselves into the Waking Sea of Sarcasm."

"Then when we're feeling _really_ ambitious," Fenris started with a smirk, "we cut our own strings and fall straight to drown into it like idiots."

"You said _we_ right?" Hawke asked. "Like, you know that includes you too, I hope?"

"I'm fairly aware," Fenris nodded calmly, pertaining that she had already made her point way back in the bathrooms that it was her duty to tell people they were idiots and he hadn't still forgotten.

"You did not just say that," Hawke almost shouted with a happy smile, which could only mean there was something else lurking about. "I have a feeling we're on the verge of hugging and coming up with cute nicknames for each other."

"Haven't we already done that, Tuffpants?" Fenris asked mockingly.

"Priscilla, please, it's high time we're on a first name basis," Hawke mused back.

"You know what's coming for you if you call me Fenkis," he said with an edge.

"What now?" Isabela asked also with a suspicious edge.

They ignored her quickly. "I wasn't going to call you Fenkis," Hawke laughed. "I was going to fall back on Mister Fister. Well, since it's a first name basis I should only call you Mister. Or is that Fister?"

"Well since you've already _fallen back_ on that so frequently," Isabela said vaguely, "I'd say it's growing a bit tiring and redundant."

"Nah, it never gets old," Hawke chuckled and dismissed her with a grimace. "It's a classic."

"I _bet _it is," Isabela said with narrowed eyes and glanced at Varric, who also dismissed her, because he still didn't believe her.

"Mister Fister!" Zevran shouted. "Ohhh, because of his-" He snorted childishly. "Oh that is a classic."

"He's bright and must be given credit to appoint it a classic upon only first hearing it," Hawke said in amusement.

"I am often thought of as being remarkably bright, yes," Zevran said with a smile, "And yet my brains, more often than not, are busily devising new and interesting ways of bringing my enemies to sudden," he gestured articulately, "gagging, writhing, agonizing death."

"Right… the guild master. How's that going for you?" Hawke asked curiously.

"Oh, Pas-_caca_?" Zevran asked with an edge. "He's dead."

"Dead?!" almost everyone shouted.

"Yes, when I happened to be looking for our Hawke here in the other half of Antiva City you two hadn't looked in," Zevran started while pointing at Varric and Fenris, "I magically came across the bastard in a dark alley. No, truly," he said calmly and shrugged, "He was startled."

"And?" Hawke asked with lifted eyebrows.

"And so I said Fool!" cried Zevran and he gestured dramatically to match his tone,"You fell victim to one of the classic blunders. The most famous is 'Never get involved in a land war in the North', but only slightly less well known is this," he leaned forward across the table and eyed his audience with the most confident look, "Never go in against an Antivan when death is on the line."

"Ah, you are your mother's trueborn son of Arainai," Armand said sarcastically.

"Am I?" Zevran asked innocently sardonic. "Do tell my father. My mother died birthing me, and he's never been sure that it was she who bore me."

"His grave is too far away," Armand muttered sharply.

"That has never been an inconvenience with you before, my friend," Zevran shrugged.

"I'm growing old, Zev," Armand said with the genuine tone of an older man than he really was.

"We remain children at heart," Zevran smiled joyfully. "Do try and preserve that."

"You're lucky though. I do not even know who my mother was," Armand said a bit bitterly.

"Some woman, no doubt. Most of them are," Zevran said childishly, shrugging up with his elbows on the table.

"PAS-_CACA_, what happened to him?" Hawke demanded impatiently.

The elf quickly snapped back to reality and resumed his lively story, "Yes! Pasquale! So well, I killed him," he smiled childishly.

"Care to elaborate?" Varric asked with a bit of an edge. He needed to know the story.

"Ah, well, you want to describe how I killed him?" Zevran asked.

Everyone nodded.

"How truly macabre you all are," Zevran said innocently. "Anyway, as I was saying – what was I saying?"

"How you killed Pasqaule," Hawke gestured impatiently.

"Do dead people like music?" Zevran shouted vaguely, but with much ripeness. "I hope they listen to mine if they do, in their coffins, in the cold underworld, between the mind and the body in an insomniac wall of sleep."

When nobody said or gestured anything anymore – since they learned their lesson – Zevran continued his story with a bit of short-lived grump in his cheeks.

"Groin' is a funny word," Zevran said suavely with an evil smile. "'I do not know the Tevinter word for it, but I'm sure you do', I said to him. He began to talk more quickly then, because I could tell he was starting to die.

'So I said to him – "Oh, maybe you didn't see it in the papers, but they've made this fabulous theological discovery, do you know what they've found? People don't go to Heaven, at the Maker's side or to the Void, to the _Inferno_, no. No, no,"' Zevran gestured very calmly.

'You see, they all go to one spot first, sort of a way station, and that is where things happen, because, you probably will not believe this, but some people on this earth have been known to do bad things to other people, innocent people, and at this way station, the innocent people wait, and then when their savager comes, they get to exact a little portion of revenge. The Maker says revenge is good for the soul. Do you know who's waiting for you, Master Pascalus?'

He then gestured dramatically, but in a calm, firm tone, "'All the elves. They're all there, and you know what else? They've all got spiky whips and thumbscrews, like you used on me - remember how you said how wonderful it was, anyone could learn that, how to use them?'"

He formed a fist and resumed, "'Well, they have and they're waiting, and I don't know about you, but I think it's gonna be terrific.'"

"Pasquale was almost dead by now, but I just had time to get that in, more the lucky I am, yes?"

"'Have a swell eternity,' I said."

"It must have been fifty seconds more before he died." Then Zevran closed it with a short smirk as he stared in blank. "Long time."

"That… was awesome," came Hawke's quite voice as her jaw dropped and her eyebrows were highly lifted.

"I told you I am ridiculously awesome," Zevran shrugged calmly with a little smile.

How positively tranquil he was with all of that. Most curious, Fenris thought. Indeed, it seemed as though there lurked a little triumphant air in Zevran, but mostly it seemed as though he had been truly at peace with it for a long time beforehand.

"So what will you do now?" Fenris asked.

"Well, first things first, I get out of this wretched damned country," Zevran said with a dismissive wave. "And I see mi cara. Yes, first and last thing I will ever do alive."

"How romantic and full of crap," Hawke said joyfully.

"Trust the word of an Antivan, my dear," Zevran said with a grin.

"I can't," Hawke said with a wink. "I know too many Antivans."

"You have come to known the two most true Antivans alive," Zevran said with stretched arms. "Cherish that. Let yourself fall into it."

"I'm afraid she'll get lost in there forever," Fenris surprisingly intervened in a tactful sharp tone.

"This is an Antivan in his true form, my friend," Zevran said with a nod.

Fenris shook his head, "I don't know about your true form, but the weight of your ego sure is pushing the crust of the earth toward the breaking point."

"Said the elf with the impossible smug look on his face," Hawke said with a wink.

"What you meant was improbable," Fenris corrected her wiseassely. "It's an improbable look of arrogance."

"And very likely," Hawke added with an edge.

"To be improbable," Fenris finished calmly.

"Ah you must adore this man," Zevran said joyfully. "Aren't you lucky to work and fight with such a charming fellow, come to this restaurant thereafter and drink strong coffee like fine and true warriors, dabble in the wondrous depths of the absolute and whatever else you do when you're not bitching at each other as if you are an old married couple!"

"He's even more charming at home," Hawke said with a smile. "Isn't he, Varric? He rides a unicycle through the house – "

"- even up and down the stairs," Varric added peacefully.

"He juggles eggs as he sometimes makes breakfast for us when we're sick–" Hawke added.

"- which he serves to us in bed of course," Varric added.

"- and pulls fragrant bouquets out of his ass," Hawke finished and smiled towards Fenris. She lifted her shoulders and smiled ever more widely. "He's just a joy."

* * *

><p><strong>Upon leaving Antiva City, Ponte della Misericordia (Bridge of Mercy)<strong>

"Well, there it is," came Hawke's sighing voice as she turned back to gaze at the marvelous city. "Goodbye, Antiva."

"Let we never come back," Fenris said a bit bitterly.

"Oh, come on, it wasn't all death and despair," Hawke pleaded innocently. "It was more like near death and half-despair."

How true.

"Regardless, I shall never wish to return," Fenris said with an edge as they gazed at the howling rivers and swinging gondolas in the distance. Birds were somewhere flying blind in the persistent fog above them.

"Well, I've got enough cigarillos to last me about ten years. Five, if I do smoke," Hawke mused.

"Five years it is then," Fenris said calmly. "And two or three until that pretty little face will irrevocably fall off."

"If it's because my jaw will land somewhere, well," she gestured, "here, because you might just crack me a damn compliment for once, instead of an insult, then yes."

"It was a compliment," Fenris said in a tone of rather innocent fakeness. "Have you not heard when I said pretty face?"

"I was too busy listening for the pretentious scratch lurking in it," Hawke said with a raised eyebrow.

"Well aren't you paranoid?" Fenris asked grumpily and enclosed his arms. "Maybe if you cease with expecting that pretentious scratch from me, I might just unconsciously stop."

"Maybe if you cease beforehand, I might just stop now and stand corrected," Hawke said calmly, smiling.

"Then I do stand corrected," Fenris said sarcastically, locking his gaze much too passionately calmly onto hers.

Varric's voice came ever sweeter, "Well now, since you stand in the same bridge with one another why don't you two just jump off."


	21. Armand's Last Lesson

**So now that we've settled, let's learn some lessons. Since drama, romance and humor made an appearance, I thought I'd honor them now with the last ingredient for scandal - wiseassery :D**

* * *

><p>Zevran had to go back to Denerim, all with apparently attending Bann Teagan's wedding with the Warden. He was getting married to a peasant girl from Redcliffe who they once helped to escape the village and hail to the capital during the Blight. They were, in a way, responsible for their random encounter in Denerim, so they were guests of double-honour at the happy celebration. The mystery with the helping Zevran was in a way, all clear now – Armand was supposed to flee Kirkwall with Dorian and they would reside in Amaranthine under the Warden's protection. The luckiest place an elf could settle in was surely there and as Zevran said it, he welcomed them there for a long time without asking for anything in return but Armand kept refusing until it was clear to him he had a good reason to ensure a happy and safe life. That reason was of course the same with tasting that fourth cup of coffee.<p>

In light of this information, they were quick to give their proper goodbyes to one another, since their easiest way to get to Ferelden in time was by ship. Isabela was most annoyed. Her eyes sparkled with the idea to join them, but then her throat stiffened and she lowered her gaze with an air of sadness as she said she had affairs to handle elsewhere.

Out by the harbor where the ships waited, they took a moment to say those goodbyes. They turned their backs on the ship and glanced at the buildings with domed roofs and bell towers tumbled down the last of Antiva City's hill to the harbor where the torches turned beneath the ornamented arches of an arcade.

As they were walking towards the harbor, Hawke still remained to seem zealous and overjoyed.

"You are welcome to come, my dear, anytime," Zevran said to her with joy. "Well, except spring, summer and fall. Those are the busy travel work days." He sighed and smiled. "Ferelden does have its perks, all with getting stuck inside for some three-four months with snow up to your neck."

"This is the first time I talk about the weather and it's not all chitter-chatter," Hawke chuckled. "By the way, how is it for you to live in Winter Wonderland?"

"Well… for me? Quite alright," Zevran started, then gestured south, "For little Zevran, not so much. He is very _big _on honesty you see, and he doesn't like it when he appears to be _lying_ – and of course he hates shrinking from the cold too. That's also a little problematic."

"How little?" Hawke mused as they walked.

"A little too much for you to take," Zevran winked devilishly.

Suddenly Hawke broke into contained little snorts, all more because she pictured Fenris for some cruelly dumb reason intervening with a cocky, "Oh, I'm sure she can take it" and then scratching the middle of his pants and adding with a sensual little smirk and a nonchalant shrug, "But she's more of a giver". For some other cruelly dumb reason, she was sure it would grow in his character to say it someday. She smiled a little inside, even though she didn't know why that would make her smile.

But snapping back to reality, Hawke pretended to be wounded by Zevran's witty comment and put a hand over her chest, "Oh, if only I were given a chance. Sadly, I have a very big and honest soul, which I hear is kind of a turn-off for you guys."

Zevran smirked and sized the hand on her chest. "Oh, yes_,_ you have a very _big _and honestsoul, andno," he winked charmingly, "I assure you it is not a turn-off for us guys." Then he turned his head to the only straight man in the group –besides the spoken for Varric in love with a crossbow, which deemed fairly problematic in the roundness of things – that he could really ask to confirm, "Do you not agree, Fenris?"

He couldn't _hate_ his name more now as he heard it.

There came an awkward head jerking on Fenris's part as his eyes flinched and his brows joined in a quick ashamed look, but not as awkward as his cheeks that grew evermore redder than Hawke's own radiant hair. He then coughed shortly and drawled, "She is a very honest soul."

"I was not asking about her honesty or her soul, big bad Fenris, Second King to all evasion," Zevran pressed with delight. He was the first king of evasion, probably – which meant, like any self-respecting king, that he was bound to feel terribly absolutist in showing his rivals where they could stick it. Strategic to no end, and which ever graceful talent, he could use a form of attack that they did not specialize in. A form of attack called **swooping**. Someone very wise in history said something about that, didn't they… Well, no name or person came to mind, but that bastard was very right.

Alas, Fenris stood corrected; he couldn't possibly hate his name more as he heard it the second time. Everyone was looking at him. Varric was giving a very evil risen eyebrow, potentially ever more ready to listen and remember for when he would put it on pen and paper and stamp to doom him for eternity in writing. Isabela was snorting – horrifically – and was perhaps indeed two of those snorts away from blasting her brains out into overjoyed kitty laughter (of which he wouldn't mind – the brain blasting anyway). Dorian was smiling – not grinning – perhaps in sympathy. Armand was nonchalant and appeared to not even listen to them as they walked, which he was grateful for. Hawke was the worst: she had her teeth out like a predator in the biggest most patient and joyful smile of them all. No, the worst would have been if added to that curiously feminine teeth-wide smile she would join her hands like a sweet little girl, all pushing her not so little chest in- and, out. Out of their curvy, very desirable proportions that were pleading and begging him to come and make sure they were just alright, like they were a cup –two cups – of strong delicious coffee, white and consequently stamped and going down with a cold because of the paleness of her nationality.

And so he managed to ruin the meaning and image of Armand's gesture in less than an hour... All while no even caring for it and being too busy wondering what it would be like if they were with Hawke and that pretty little dress all far away in Ferelden in times of cold winter.

Maker, he was going to hell.

As he snapped out and as his throat became ever more stiffened, in light of all this scenery that he resolved to overthink out of proportions, his voice came terribly hoarse and low in tone even as he tried to save it, "You do remind me of my friend Donnic's great nana. Although you still have both your legs."

Hawke broke into laughter and nodded in approval at his quick save. Zevran was disappointed. Everyone else was rolling their eyes. Armand laughed. It was a triumphant day for everyone.

"Well now, if that great nana is as feisty and hot as another great nana I one knew," Zevran saved it too, "You've got yourself a compliment, Hawke."

That great nana was terribly weeping somewhere far far away.

"I take what I can get," Hawke said joyfully. "It's hard to extrude compliments from him."

"And most times you don't even find the compliment in the giant battalion of clawing and thrashing from his muttering," Varric intervened while smirking, speaking from his own experience.

"Santa Madre, for shame!" Zevran exclaimed and raised his arms. "There is a serious shortage of fine bosoms in this world and it would be a terrible pity to damage yours!" He dismissed Fenris with his feisty driven hand. "For shame!"

"Oh dear, I think I stepped in something," Fenris said nonchalantly. He really did step in something.

"Ahah, at any rate," Zevran chuckled and waved with his palm at Hawke. "Until you find the time to visit, I shall first and foremost go straight to mi Cara and tell her all about you."

"Please don't," Hawke said to Zevran. "I mean I'm flattered that you deem me worthy to be told about, but… seeing as I hallucinated her once and ran for the hills to chase a ghost, I don't want her to think I'm a swooning fanatic all cheering and jumping like a psychotic bumble-bee at what a sweet delight she obviously is in my head." Sweet delight to snort and laugh to death if she ever found out.

"I will try," Zevran said with a smile. "But I cannot promise anything. After all, I can never really forget bosoms of such great importance. And no, do not go all accusations and disapproving looks on me!" He raised his wiseass index finger to match his confident grin. "What you did not get to hear yet is that I am quite the gentleman – in that I also manage to _always_ remember and associate the name and the face with the legendary bosom." He winked. "This, I swear."

Indeed, someone in history was also crying from a faraway land from Zevran's comment.

"More so because you never did actually associate 'legendary' with 'bosom' more than twice in your life," Armand quickly ruined it.

"Well they did need to know that!" Zevran exclaimed and shot Armand a grumpy look.

"Well…" Hawke started and shrugged, "Goodie."

"Do not be grumpy, my dear," Zevran protested calmly. "It does not suit your lively face and those big radiant eyes."

"Oh, but my how my eyes look don't make much of a difference, do they?" Hawke muttered.

"I plead and beg for you to smile my dear," Zevran said charmingly. "In all seriousness, do smile."

Hawke gave Armand a look as if to question if he was serious. Armand confirmed with nodding his eyelids that he was indeed serious.

She rolled her eyes, tried to picture Zevran gagged and locked with a chastity belt and finally smiled. "Better now?"

"I am overjoyed and I figuratively swoon," Zevran praised charmingly.

"Great. I'm a joy of life I am," Hawke muttered in amusement.

"Ah, the modest sighs of one's despair," Zevran said with a sigh, "Truly you cannot be more unreasonable than life itself is."

"Yeah, life is unfair," Hawke shouted grumpily and while having unperturbed eyes, she quickly raised her arms above her head and snapped her fingers. "Olé!"

Zevran then broke into laughter and fell on the ground while holding his stomach.

"What got over him?" Varric asked with a risen eyebrow.

"I made an honest man out of him," Hawke said in victory.

* * *

><p><strong>A few minutes later<strong>

Beneath the last arch, for a moment, Zevran and Armand took Fenris by the side.

"Yes?" Fenris drawled as the two men cornered him with their peculiarly serious gazes.

"We have something for you," Armand stated like a general.

The rustling sound of the leaves and the birds flying away up above was the answer he gave them.

Not a man of unnecessary words himself, Armand undid something at the back of his neck and let loose a necklace out from beneath his coat. Fenris had already forgotten about that trinket, having only once spotted it around his neck in camp when he kept his vest wide open because of the heat from the fire pit. Even then, he didn't have much time to notice all with being too busy hating him in his mind that he was more muscular than he was.

He held the simple silver chain in his hand, leaving a small darker locket in the form of a narrow leaf to dangle in the air. He quickly raised a questioning eyebrow and gazed in confusion at a very serious-looking Armand.

"It's nothing, but consider it a thank you offering," Armand muttered with a slow nod. "And do not worry, we gave Hawke and Varric something too."

"… Alright," Fenris drawled and took the necklace in his hand.

"When you open it, you'll see that I put a thread of my luscious hair in it for safekeeping," Zevran chattered innocently. "You know, if you ever wish to remind yourself that you must really do something with that stubborn jerking of your bangs. That or simply to remember how awesome I am."

Fenris quickly shook his head and gave Zevran a look full of protest and disbelief as the elf was quickly moving his eyebrows up and down with a saucy grin.

"He's kidding," Armand quickly said with a ghost of smile.

"I hope," Fenris uttered calmly. He slowly lowered his gaze to the object in his hand and then looked back at him. "Does it do anything?

"If you're thinking runes of nature or fire or some other ancient abracadabra, then no," Zevran said rather calmly.

Armand gave the locket a simple look and raised his tired eyes back to Fenris. "I kept it with me for as long as I can remember. Whatever it does, it seems to have worked."

"Then why give it up?" Fenris demanded quietly.

The corner of Armand's lips extended only briefly and his eyelids fell halfway. "I don't need it anymore."

"Oh?" Fenris asked. He looked at again to study it and muttered unemotionally, "Is it some personal symbol of freedom?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Armand said firmly in his sharp tone. "Just keep it."

Fenris nodded knightly in acceptance. Then his right eye moved quickly to Zevran. "You said _we_."

"Did we?" Zevran asked playfully. "I don't quite remember."

"I'm sure," Fenris uttered with a smile. He had already gotten used to the elf's way of handling things.

"It is the royal we," Zevran tattled with a wink.

"Zev," Armand growled and gave him a look.

"What? You know I am not good with goodbyes," Zevran protested in a serious tone.

"Quit your yackety-yak and ask him your question," Armand commanded unemotionally.

Zevran raised an eyebrow as if he didn't know what he was talking about. Quickly something sparkled in his eye and he resumed, "Ah, yes. Dal vuoto, how I can forget!" He approached Fenris and coughed a bit awkwardly.

"You wish to give me kissing lessons too?" Fenris snarled in a bit of irriation.

"Not unless- _OUCH,_" he quickly screamed and turned to Armand who probably pinched him from the back with all the relentlessness of his gauntlet. "Idiota, I was going to say not unless you wish mi Cara to harrow Hell over both of us all away from Ferelden. She will know it before I get to pull my pants up."

"Why would you need to pull your … pants up?" Fenris asked in confusion.

"I don't know how you do kissing, my friend, but when I do it they always come down," Zevran laughed joyfully. "Oh, but do not judge me so quickly," Zevran said and raised a flirtatious cocky eyebrow. "It is not I who does the-_OUCH._" He turned to Armand and gave him a murderous look.

Armand remained calm and shrugged with an air of innocence, "Time is running out."

"Life is pain and all, but I would appreciate it if at least my calendars were gentle," Zevran protested while rubbing his back. He turned back to Fenris and resumed calmly, "At any rate, I need to ask you a question that I feel would be dangerous to ask Hawke, all with being sure she will storm the city gates of Amaranthine soon enough now that my 'yackety-yak' mouth also gave her a welcome_ whenever_."

"Alright…" Fenris nodded calmly, giving him permission to continue.

Zevran nodded back politely and resumed with a waving gesture, "I have forgotten about it entirely all with the escaping near death and Hawke getting lost in the city and with all the helpful speeches about love I have honored you with as a professional-"

"All the -speeches-, yes," Fenris corrected calmly.

Zevran chuckled and resolved to give him right, then continued, "-and so I forgot about your dwarven friend mentioning an…" his eyes became a bit darker and his brow arched up sharply, "… Anders."

From the very quick response of Fenris's eyes rolling and reaching the back of his head, Zevran nodded in empathy, "Ah, so 'tis true, it is _that _Anders."

"I can only assume from the scorn in your saying 'that Anders', that you know him rather well?" Fenris asked.

"I've always been held as a rather sympathetic and fortunate person," Zevran said calmly. "Which is why I equally cherish my luck that he is gone from my life as much as I pity that he fell into yours. All six feet of _bull _that he is."

Fenris broke into laughter for a moment. It startled Zevran. Then his amused face quickly died and he raised a questioning eyebrow, "You are not just being dramatically funny, are you?"

"Unfortunately, this time I am not," Zevran sighed. He waved a dismissive hand. "He is an evil little fiend, and while I quite frankly do not waste time despising people, this one really begged for it."

Fenris chuckled again and said, "I am beginning to think his leaving the Wardens was involuntary."

"It can be argued. It is a long story. But even so, he was lucky. I was close to viciously beat the_ crap_ out of him at the time. Fortunate for him, that I am such a gentleman," Zevran said with a hand over his heart.

"I am familiar with that honorable abstinence," Fenris agreed calmly.

"Well, now," Zevran said in curiosity, "I cannot imagine how or why he decided to be a pain in _your _ass."

"However shockingly, it wasn't voluntary," Fenris said calmly, shaking his head. He crossed his arms and asked, "But why would he get on _your _nerves? You don't seem the kind to pay heed to such things, as you said."

Zevran rolled his eyes, "Tsk. Why do you think?" He crossed his arms and scowled. "I'll give you a good guess."

"I am terrible at guessing," Fenris said calmly.

Armand finally intervened with rolling his own eyes, "What is the _only _thing in the world that can make Zevran storm the gates of the Dark City itself for with all the viciousness and cruelty of a crazed serial killer?"

"I'm sensing that's a rhetorical question," Fenris drawled with a risen eyebrow.

"And much redundant," Zevran pressed with an annoyed scowl. Fenris didn't say anything, so Zevran sighed and waved his hand in irritation, "Cara."

Fenris was about to say something, but Zevran stopped him with unyielding annoyance, "And do not play fool and say you do not know what cara means." To that, Fenris raised an eyebrow and Zevran closed his eyes while shrugging very innocently, "It is an insult to me."

He seemed serious. "Did he do something to her?" Fenris asked.

"I didn't let him have the chance," Zevran growled in annoyance. "Ah, he abused of his rank and her friendship enough as it is. But even so, it matters little now for me. Pay no heed to my irritation."

"You had a question… about an hour ago," Fenris said in amusement.

"How true," Armand said with a little smile.

"How true indeed," Zevran confessed and looked down. "I want to ask you how he is doing."

"Do you frequently take interest in the health of the ones you despise?" Fenris asked a bit mockingly.

"Hm. I did say my mind goes more often than not into the land of planning writhing and agonizing deaths for my enemies," Zevran mused, coming back only briefly to a joyful attitude. Slowly he became serious again and asked, "My question pertains to what he is doing there, what his intentions are. And more importantly, _what _is he now?"

Then the meaning finally arrived in Fenris's sanctum of reason. He lowered his gaze and sighed, "Ah, you mean the merging with the spirit part." He crossed his arms defensively. "I will have to disappoint you. I know little about what he is, although I strongly wager that what he calls himself ," he gestured mocking quotation marks, "_spirit healer, _is just a fancied up term for abomination."

"What does Hawke think?" Zevran pleaded in a bit of a heightened tone. "I mean, she is a –"

Fenris raised his palm to stop him and articulated quietly, "Keep your voice down when you associate her name with the next thing you were going to say. She's not a common whatshername back home anymore and it's dangerous even in these parts to speak about it."

"Forgive me. You are most reasonable," Zevran agreed chivalrously. "And see," he chuckled and gestured, "that right there is what a truthful helping hand is. I don't think our lessons were necessary."

"No, I suspect it was purely for your entertainment, all with laughing at the clueless escaped slave in love," Fenris snarled grumpily while crossing his arms and leaning with his back on the wall. Good thing that he did lean on something, because he quickly stiffened as he realized the last words he had muttered. _Kaffa _was the shortest and most articulate curse his faltering mind could come up with.

Zevran chuckled and raised a triumphant eyebrow, "You said it, not us."

Quickly killing the next thought in his mind, Fenris resolved to go back to their original point. He waved his hand in his crossed-arms posture as he explained, "We had a discussion over it once. I remember her saying that there are no records of mages coalescing with spirits, and therefore it is presumed that there have hardly been any incidents like this in history –because spirits are opposed to leaving the Fade and Justice was, in turn, cast out of it by some possessed-mage-soul-abomination-," he pressed his lips, "whatever."

"I know this part too, but one could only wonder," Zevran said a bit in sorrow. His gaze lowered as if he remembered something and tried to hold the memory. "I knew a very good woman once. _Know, _but we do not get to see her very often now. Her name is Wynne."

"I know that name," Fenris said quickly, but took a moment to remember where he had heard it. "She was with you when you defeated the Blight."

"Yes, she was, on the tower itself when the Archdemon fell. Her courage and dedication were… simply put, unfaltering and eternal," Zevran said in warm voice. "And her bosom, even more."

"Does her bosom have anything to do with this story?" Fenris demanded while rolling his eyes.

"No, no, not really," Zevran said with a smile. "I will stick to what's important. Even if her bosom is also of grand importance."

"Do go on," Fenris said. "With the story."

"Well you see, when the Circle fell and we came to save it, she died trying to defend the apprentices. Or so she said, anyway," Zevran explained. Fenris frowned a bit and continued listening, "And once she told us that a Spirit of Faith was what saved her. That it simply entered her body, enveloped her in a warming light and she started feeling the cold hard ground again in less than a second. And so, even if she never really stated it as such, it was testament that her time was not done and her duty was to save the Circle and help _us_ with the Blight."

"And?" Fenris asked, a bit interested now.

"And so she did. With a lot of faith that we would bring the darkspawn to their knees," Zevran said joyfully, remembering, but then he dismissively gestured, "Not some idiotic blind faith of course. She gave us strength and faith from her years. She was very wise, and very beautiful for her age."

"Sticking to the story," Armand intervened with a little smile.

"Thank you ever so much for keeping me focused, Armand," Zevran said calmly. "And so, well, it never occurred to me to think that something was wrong. That what happened was unnatural or evil. And it was not!" Zevran exclaimed seriously. "It is different though, because that is much more miraculous – a spirit that deliberately came for her rescue. I think that's what made her uncorrupted by it. She did not say anything about the spirit talking in her head or some other sorcery."

"That is not the case with _this _one," Fenris protested with discomfort, uncrossing his arms. "He says it talks in his head. Or they are only one now, or," he dismissed with his palm in anoyance, "whatever."

"Sad, is it not?" Zevran said with half-lidded sorrowful eyes. "Wynne said she was an abomination living on 'borrowed time' to help us." He pressed his eyes and snapped out of his trance. "What does _he_ do?"

"He treats people in an underground clinic," Fenris said, and with a bit discomfort, he added, "For free."

"Well, now," Zevran said with a rapid scowl. "That is quite uncharacteristic of him. No, that is completely ridiculous."

"Why?" Fenris asked in confusion.

"Because he was nothing more than a big selfish scoundrel as I remember him. And lucky, like me, to escape the ones that were after him," Zevran said despicably. He shrugged with his arms crossed, "I know the type."

"Well you seem to be quite the honest good-doer these days," Fenris gestured towards him in a half-mocking tone, quickly thereafter feeling like hitting himself in the head for appearing to defend Anders.

"Ah, well, I am good at heart," Zevran protested and shrugged. "Surely you can appreciate the difference."

"Surely I can appreciate some light over what your question really is," Fenris pressed.

"I don't quite know, to be honest," Zevran confessed. "I mean, surely what I know is that I never wish to have anything to do with him again. You know, never _see _him again," he pressed, pertaining to his wife. "She had enough trouble at his doing."

"What did he do?" Fenris demanded.

"A Templar infiltrated the Wardens in their ranks and sought to arrest him for being an abomination. He said that the Wardens agreed upon it." Then he sighed. "Sadly, that piece of news did not arrive to the ears of her _authority._"

"I'm beginning to sense this is going nowhere pleasant," Fenris muttered.

"She was all in favor to defend him, of course," Zevran said with a bit of scorn in the last part. "But instead of listening to her and end the thing peacefully, he and that all-knowing soooo righteous _spirit _decided it was indeed, time to take," he gestured mocking quotation marks, "_justice_, in their hands." Zevran then shook his head and sighed in exasperation. "He killed the Templar _and _the Wardens. It was very ugly afterwards. He fled the Keep and left her with all the pointing fingers."

"…What a _shithead_," Fenris articulated in surprise. The term he used just as much surprised the men.

Zevran quickly chuckled and waved his palm, "I never do with calling people this – for obvious reasons – but he does deserve all the fullness of scorn in being called _whoreson._"

"I am inclined to agree," Fenris muttered with a crooked smile. "Fortunately for my nerves, I am already used to him. He began to work with us about the same time when I joined Hawke and Varric."

"They are friends?" Zevran demanded with a bit of disgust. "Oh, no, please do not tell me he manipulates her too."

"Manipulates?" Fenris asked in surprise, frowning urgently. "I would not call whining and rambling in tones of a strangled soprano," he gestured mockingly, "about mages deserving to be free to a yawning Hawke, well, successful manipulation, to say the least."

Zevran started laughing with joy at his mockery and joined his palms, "I knew I adored you! Now I adore you even more!"

"Adore me some more with telling me if I should be worried," Fenris pressed in alarm.

"Well… you said something about the cheering for the liberation of mages, did you not?" Zevran asked while cupping his chin. "A scumbag apostate and manipulative son of a bitch possessed by a crazy spirit of justice and a hungry force for vengeance. Now you can appreciate the redundancy in the expression 'You can put two and two together'."

"Well… Santa Madre…" Fenris muttered with scorn, and came up from leaning against the wall.

"_Bastardo_," Zevran articulated with narrowed eyes.

"You think he has a hidden agenda?" Fenris asked urgently.

"No. Yes. Well," Zevran tattled, crossing his arms. "Keep an eye on him."

"You don't have to tell me twice," Fenris said firmly. He looked back to the harbor at Hawke who was laughing in joy with the others. Then he turned his head back to Zevran. "You have to tell _her._"

"Well, she is a –" Zevran stopped and nodded with pressed lips to deem the next term as self-explanatory. "So you should start praying he will not convince her to do something stupid." He sighed, "After all, I was very serious when I told her that she could rule the world if she so wished. She could outmaneuver entire armies if she so wished. She is the same as my darling wife in this respect."

"Well, how very fortunate for everyone that they lack the desire to abuse of their strength," Fenris said honestly.

"People and love are afraid of change, more than they are of their destruction. But both can also be very courageous in welcoming change when their needs take an unexpected toll. So in that respect, do not forget which you wish to savor. If you want it to last, or you want to destroy it. Change is not always a good thing," Zevran said very seriously. "Sometimes it is unfortunately necessary."

"A necessary evil?" Fenris asked perceptively. He snorted heavily, "Ptfeh. You are stretching this philosophy. If we bring your point back to our little abominable 'friend', this sounds as if he could become an activist once and a legend thrice. Forgive me if I don't foresee him having a legendary future."

"By healing gutter tramps in an underground clinic? No," Zevran nodded with a grin. "By abusing of the wealth, influence and compassion of a praiseworthy friend… You may want to tie and gag him now even if this idea has not yet tickled his scurvy little mind."

"She is not _that _wealthy and influent," Fenris said in a bit of relief. "Her compassion, well," he jerked his eyebrows and lowered his gaze, "We should feel grateful that she is utterly divorced from magic, even with her compassion."

"It is good to have a moderate, balanced conception of things," Zevran said with a smile. "It is also good to be tied down to a higher duty, as not to feel too driven and free to do as that compassionate heart pleases." He lowered his gaze and smiled. "If not for being Commander of the Grey, one could only imagine what sort of wonders this impossible little woman could do." He shook his head and stared in blank, "Storming a tower full of abominations and blood mages, and oh, such butt-ugly demons," he laughed, "She would have done it with her eyes closed and her hands tied. And without being arguably forced into it because of requiring help from all over the nation. BUT, it was her duty. It was good."

"Well… I promise I will remain alarmed until she joins the Guard or something to justify her actions," Fenris replied a bit insipidly.

"No, my friend, do not be so alarmed," Zevran said with a tranquil little smile. "Like I said, we do good when it needs to be done. We do not search for it, to feel like some dignified saints. We are simply found by evil and in that moment only do we make it our duty to fight it. I do not think Hawke would mean to _start _anything, be it good or evil."

"How very true," Fenris agreed calmly.

"Well then," Zevran inhaled heavily, then straightened up like a knight. He took an honoring bow and nodded with his eyelids, "It was a pleasure to meet you and get your help. And be saved by you. Twice, if I recall. I always seem to forget these things," he said innocently and then his voice became macabre, "Not as much as I recall exactly how many people I kill."

As Fenris raised an unimpressed eyebrow at his dramatic line, Zevran smirked innocently, "I compete for points, you see."

Fenris chuckled and nodded for a goodbye, then Zevran turned, but gave him another quick wink, "Do try not to fall into a trap," he said; only after added, "Or learn to wear boots. I hear the fashion now is blue and red velvet with peacock trinkets."

"Z- Zevran," Fenris drawled.

"Zev," he said. "Please. I am Zev to my friends," he said as he turned around.

"R-right," Fenris said and coughed shortly. He nodded in chivalry, "Benevis fedari, Zev. May the ground rise to meet your feet."

"Si vive una volta sola, ma se lo fai bene, una volta è sufficiente," Zevran uttered in a proud voice. "You only live once, but if you do it _right_, once is enough." He then went down the path for the harbor to join the others. Armand remained still.

Fenris looked at him and was a bit faltered with questioning. Armand looked as much tranquil as he did zealous, with a curious air of compassion or warmth refracting out through the cracks of his indomitable expression. He stood with his arms crossed and shared their look for a moment.

"You wish to ask me something too?" Fenris asked calmly, not in the mood anymore to crack some joke up about performing surveys or inane prodding. He owed a lot to this man and though he wouldn't admit it, Fenris was a bit anguished and remorseful with the thought that they would probably never meet again.

"I told you I had Lesson no.2 for the little bitch to go forth with stepping on the higher ranks of happy bitch," Armand said with a taunting grin which only made his sharp tone more dominant now.

"You must have given my evil twin all the other happy-bitch lessons," Fenris mused with a little smirk.

"No, those were for stepping to the ranks of only bitch," Armand said sharply and jerked his head. "And they were in my charming friend's company, so we did not get anywhere much anyway."

"Do tell, Cupid," Fenris said with the fullness of an amused expression.

"Who?" Armand asked with a risen eyebrow.

"Your masters back in Vol Dorma have obviously not had a pointless soft spot for ancient heathen creeds and an even more annoying habit of rambling about it day and night. Sometimes, I truly wondered if I preferred the dungeon and shackles to that inane prattle," Fenris muttered bitterly. It was confusing, and most horrifying, that he felt at ease to joke with Armand about their plight. Perhaps because he understood, it didn't feel like it was such a crime to remember only for a second and treat it as if it were nothing.

Armand crossed his arms and grinned. "Do tell, Wiseassus Maximus."

"Cupid? Oh, some powerful desire demon, no doubt," Fenris quickly cut it. "One which happens to look completely undesirable."

Armand chuckled and sighed. "Alright. Lesson no.2, yes?"

"I am all pointy ears," Fenris growled with a smirk. Why did he feel so amused with himself all of a sudden? Was it because Armand was inarguably much stronger and wiser than him, thus he felt like a child? That this man was perfectly free now, and his tale was over. There was no more malice or discord to torture his life, and it appeared as though there was none of it in his soul either. So perhaps, on the contrary, his tale was only just beginning. The "happy-bitch" life; he had it all. Fenris resolved to dispatch all of this from his mind.

"When I gave you the first lesson, in camp all those days ago, I told you if it doesn't work, I will take issue to give you the second, yes?" Armand said.

"It hasn't worked, and you did," Fenris pressed redundantly.

Armand laughed. "Of course it hasn't worked. That's why I gave the bad lesson first."

"You did _what_?" Fenris almost shouted, anger painting all around his furrowed brows and the boiling vein on his forehead.

"You first had to see what you do not want to do," Armand said. He shrugged nonchalantly, "Without overdoing it of course. I am not an idiot and I am not evil."

"No, you're only a slightly bit evil," Fenris said, mirroring Armand's short and clever jokes which pertained that he was still an idiot.

"Oh, I'm so offended," Armand muttered with half-lidded eyes. "Notwithstanding, I first have to tell you something else."

Fenris crossed his arms. "Well, with my gross credulity at your words, you might just call me a dwarf and I'll nod in agreement and walk on my knees."

Armand laughed and startled him. "Now that would be an image – "

" – that is improbable to happen," Fenris pressed, so he wouldn't get any ideas. "Now that I no longer am overly open to conviction with you and your earthshattering suggestions."

"Oh, you will. Pay me heed," Armand pleaded confidently. "You will not be sorry."

Fenris snorted, "That's what Hawke told me before we entered the Bone Pit."

"You are alive," Armand rolled his eyes.

"Not the mine in Kirkwall. The luxury whorehouse here," Fenris articulated grumpily.

Armand snorted. "She took you to the Bone Pit?"

"She was hungry and it was late," Fenris said, all while trying not to smile.

"Alright," Armand chuckled hoarsely. "Well. Words seem to fail me now. It's most curious." He lowered his gaze and seemed to ponder or search for something in his mind. He pressed his eyes shortly thereafter and his face changed into very sharp and shrewd, with the fullness of dominance. "Breathe. Breathe a little and start enjoying your life. There will be time for horrors such as this that you witnessed with me. But you should not fear and worry in-between." Armand then gave him a very broad, illuminated and down-right startling smile. "Because your friends will be there for you. Your friends are there," he gestured towards the harbor, where Hawke was still laughing joyfully and clutching onto Varric's shoulder for balance as he was impersonating Senechal Bran and his pretentious little risen eyebrow. Fenris couldn't help but smile at the sight, before Armand snapped him out of that warm trance and caught his eyes, "They will be there to share your burden, as well as be there when time comes to battle your worst nightmare. They will always be there."

It then occurred to him that Armand was the only one who didn't seem alarmed when Zevran told the story of killing Pasquale. He was there with him, just as Zevran was in the catacombs, but he let his friend tell the story as if he were the only one there because he knew that Zevran liked telling stories and it would make it all the more dramatic and compelling when he told the dramatic speech about all the elves ready in the purgatory with spiked whips and thumbscrews waiting for Pasquale before he killed him. That was friendship, as he noticed, just as love was when he took that one sip of coffee to be sure it was alright.

"You just have to _be there_ too, for that," Armand said firmly. He narrowed his eyes and heightened his face with half-lidded eyes to catch the image of his fellow escaped slave's understanding. "Are you friend enough for them to stay, Fenris?"

Fenris glanced at the harbor slowly and caught Hawke's eye as she was looking at him from a distance. She quickly smiled and waved, then stuck her tongue out at him. Tickled to death, that's how happy she looked when she did it. Ever more radiant she seemed, and joyful and ripe; cascade of red tumultuous hair and big, cheerful hazel eyes, testament to her dual colorful nature – and it had nothing to do with the dress. Immersed into that vault of heaven she exuded, Fenris didn't even notice he was smiling back; and a wide smile it was.

"Vivere è la cosa più rara al mondo. La maggior parte della gente esiste, ecco tutto," Armand finally said in a botched Antivan accent and snapped him out.

"Meaning?" Fenris demanded as though he hadn't made up at least part of it.

"To live is the rarest thing in the world," he said firmly, then sized Fenris up sharply, "Most people exist, that is all."

He looked again in the distance and pondered on it for a while. He hadn't felt like he did more than simply existing for a long time; this was very true. Twice he did feel he lived, and one of those times was still continuing today. And this second time it felt like he would crumble to the pits of the Void if it didn't last. He resolved it in his mind that somehow – however surprisingly optimistic of him, but not at all uncharacteristic to his dedication – he would make it last.

"And once the game is over, the king and the pawn go in the same box," Armand said and snapped him out of his trance again. "And you may automatically think I mean that your master or the humans are no better than you as an elf or an escaped slave, but," he stopped to catch his gaze and lock it there, "It also means you are no better than them if you lose yourself and treat the world, or yourself, with scorn."

"An interesting way to put it," Fenris commented and pondered on it. He coughed shortly. "You may be right."

"I am always right," Armand said while smirking arrogantly. He closed his eyes. "And you can hear Amore by the harbor giving me the finger now."

Fenris broke into laughter. It didn't startle the other anymore.

Then he looked as if he was pondering on something. "Hmm. Cara… Amore…" Fenris gestured almost philosophically and then he smiled as he muttered, "The pet names we gave to each other revolve around clown and troll mages for her and magic-fisting cockatoos and blue-glowing snowglobes for me."

"And you know why that is?" Armand asked sharply, catching Fenris's gaze with insistent eyes.

"We're… funny people?" Fenris muttered with an honestly nonchalant shrug.

The next thing in turn startled Fenris now, Armand laughing very loudly. A lot, and echoing up towards Kirkwall, with the strength and deepness of a bass, Armand laughed with joy and almost satanically, then finally finished with as his eyelids fell halfway and his laughs ended in a very sharp, mocking and disgustful, "_Eeeghh._"

Fenris didn't say anything, all too impressed and confused, and a bit frightened. The next thing startled him even more. Armand inhaled like a crazed bull and his sharp eyes narrowed as he approached him.

"Lesson no. 2," he uttered articulately in his walk. A bit unsettled, Fenris leaned on the wall because Armand didn't stop at the polite distance. As his back touched the wall, Armand rested his hand against it near Fenris's head and his dominant gaze locked onto him, all alight with the rays of the Sun arching past his red hair and his green eyes. Then, with all the abruptness and imperative of tone, Armand uttered the shortest and clearest sentence in history that did not need any over-openness for conviction, "Tell her how you feel."

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><p><strong>Sunset, Ponte della Misericordia (Bridge of Mercy)<strong>

"Well, since you stand in the same bridge with one another, why don't you two just jump off," Varric's voice said sweetly.

Hawke broke into laughter, but before she could add some funny joke to her witty raised gesturing hand, something interrupted it.

"Oh, what a fine idea," came Fenris's voice melodically. He grabbed Hawke's hand all of a sudden and dragged her to the balustrade, to everyone's surprise. "What do you say?" He jerked his head and grinned widely, "Shall we do the dwarf a favor?"

Hawke didn't protest, instead cupped her chin and smiled fiendishly all with Fenris still holding her hand, "Hm. I do owe him a favor after dragging him to the catacombs, 'tis true."

"Are you kidding? Who's gonna drive the carriage when the horses are much more likely to throw me by the rope and into the evergreen forests?" Varric quickly shouted. "Isabela, Captain of the Two-Three Raindrops of the Only Slightly Moist Road-Dirt?"

"How sad," Hawke said while still smiling. "Perhaps she could make do with sailing with the carriage across the sea that your tears are going to make over losing us, yes?"

"Tears of laughter, I assure you," Varric said confidently and crossed his arms. "This is the most scandalizing image I have ever seen of you two in."

"I've seen worse," Isabela muttered with a risen eyebrow. Varric gave her a look of dismissal with his grimace, so she concluded it would be best not to assault Hawke and Fenris with the truth now that they were standing on the edge of a bridge. They might just jump before they confessed anything.

"You have three seconds to admit you can't live without us," Hawke said confidently. She squeezed Fenris's gauntlet and leaned shortly over the balustrade. "Three…"

"Quit it, Pantaloons," Varric muttered sharply.

"Two…" Fenris exclaimed all-devilish grinning.

"That includes you too, Sir Broodsalot," Varric growled with his arms crossed.

"One and a half, one and a quarter," Hawke said rapidly and they both bent strongly on the balustrade smiling at each other through their teeth.

Varric uncrossed and raised his arms and lowered his head. "Pfeww I take it back, I take it back, jeez. I can't live without you two! There." Then he stretched his arms and muttered, "Throw in a _fuck you_, too while I'm at this love declaration in the fluffy capital of romance and rainbows. NOW LET'S GET THE FLUFF OUT OF HERE."

"I suppose a heartbreaking scene where we all hug on the Bridge of Friendship is too much to ask, isn't it?" Hawke chuckled as she came with Fenris back at them.

"It's the Bridge of Mercy," Fenris corrected and rubbed his chin."Which is still very dramatic in itself, since we have subdued ourselves to Varric's."

"Yeah, you're at my mercy, bitches," Varric growled charmingly. "So if anyone fucks with me again and forces rainbows and unicorns out of my sparkly dwarven fairy self, you can take it shooting with sprinkles out of my fluffy dwarven ass when you give it a nice kissing," he said and gestured to his butt mockingly.

"Oh, not the _sprinkles,_" Hawke gasped and put a hand over her heart. "We don't want that now, do we, Fenris?" she asked joyfully as he caught her gaze and smiled

"You can never take a dwarven fairy's words lightly when they're threatening with sprinkles," Fenris said calmly.

"Well then, I guess you can move your worthless asses to the carriage now and get the fuck out of here," Varric said with a charming wink.

"Did I hear right?" Hawke pretended to eavesdrop. "I don't think I heard it right, Fenris. Did you?"

"I am very certain he said 'the fluff out of here'," Fenris mused all-grinning.

The dwarf turned their back and walked as he uttered, "Aw, that's sweet – you two musing about two of the things that begin with the same letter," he turned his head and winked, "that both of you have _absolutely no idea_ about," he finished firing back joyfully.

They would have protested, but, it began to occur to them a few seconds too late that the "absolutely no idea" part was more articulated by Varric not because he knew for fact that they were canoodling behind his back (which he didn't) or that they were some kind of utterly unemotional or purely chaste people, but because –as it turned out, Fenris and Hawke, all grinning in their glory... had _absolutely no idea_ that they were still holding hands.

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><p><strong>It was shorter, but I wanted it to end with this theme of friendship. <strong>


	22. Look Deep Into My Eyes

**IMPORTANT: IF YOU DON'T WANT SPOILERS DON'T READ THIS DESCRIPTION, but I have to make it clear for those courageous ones that want to be a little rebellious. Soon you will read something sad. I took liberty of imagining the story previous the Fenris: A Short Story by David Gaider, which explains why the hunter's reason was now personal and how he got the wound and all. Of course, the author has all the rights.**

* * *

><p>Yep, I'm drunk again... go figure.<p>

But let's make a pact - I'll exasperate you now with my drunken rant and my narration of just one stupid memory from on the road, because there's this impending, incredible, absolutely legendary episode where EVERYONE goes drunk as a nug and colossally ridiculous - on Varric's birthday. Now THAT is going to be a LONG night. Which is when we get to Kirkwall. So bear that in mind, that I will not interfere there (you'll finally see how I look like for the others drunk so prepare to fall from your chairs laughing at me while I smile involuntary at your pain just as well) and you can bitch and curse at me now because I can surely take it! I am quite sturdy. Wait, no, that's Fenris. What I am is stubborn.

Don't love me? Well, I'm filled with love for you either way. You remember I'm like super-good and stuff, right? Yeah, I didn't believe me either.

When I was a small girl, I had a terrible dream. I dreamed that my father, my mother, my sister and my brother, one by one, died. Every frame of the dream held one of their bodies as a horrific effigy, like a ghost, and they haunted me in my head and my eyes burned. They were quick still, and mute, with big, closed eyes, and pale cheeks, and so horrified was I that I could make no more of a sound that they could.

That dream, in a way, came true; which is just as mortifying.

Rather credulous at heart, I thought that they would live forever. Not I, of course, I mean just them. I resolved, rather like an over the hill hit in the head romantic, to forever hold their portrait in my heart, until my last breath. Father with his overly arrogant, paradoxically just as modest attitude and humorous take on life and all things dire, Mother exuding the vault of heaven itself with her love and patience, Bethany with her incredibly playful, soft and feminine air of "I own your ass and you don't even know it" and Carver with his very lively and boyish urgency to do - to do everything and anything. And the rest of the world can go fuck itself. You may not have a good opinion about him, but you don't really know him as I do. He can be rather charming. When he wants to. It's a Hawke thing. Don't read too much into it.

I always thought I would die young. Now it seems that... I really don't know how to die. I haven't survived as well as I should, but that's the thing - people like me, like Fenris, like Zevran, like Armand, like Anders, even Varric... they know they'll survive. I'm not talking vanity blown out of proportions or some smug sense of indestructibility... it's an unconscious feeling, a dormant reality, a whisper in the shadows or maybe just some kind of separate feeling breathing in and out in some alternate dimension of our being that simply thrives, throbs, creeks, scratches... and lies just as still and quiet to our ears.

And it keeps us here.

It's not something easy to live with. To exist with... well that's damned easy. It's very damned easy to live for yourself and breathe only for yourself, and the rest of the world just doesn't matter.

I'm not one of those people. But hell, life goes on, right? It's just as easy to immerse and lose yourself in pointless philosophies and brooding contemplations.

By anyone's standards, I am a remarkably ... stupid mage, most powerful with a sword, add magic to it and all hell breaks lose. But I know I'm still good and I can be even better, and even the angels and spirits will attest to my powers, if you can get them to speak to you. Be cautious on that point. I'm drunk and I go haywires with joking about myself in somewhat shadowy tones. Even I don't know exactly when I'm serious and when I am not.

I have, however, nothing whatsoever to do with the Covens of Libertarian Mages, or some other bullshit group of Enchanters, or some vein-on-the-forehead-boiling hidden apostate groups for that matter... bands of romantic mages from the Circle in Ferelden all the way to pretentious, radiant, phlegmatic Spire of Val Royeux, which have regaled you already with so many chronicles and tales. I know nothing of those heroes or martyrs or villains that history tells about, or some of the macabre facts of some mages masquerading as fiction. I know nothing of their enticing -paradise and hell- in the swamplands, mountainsides, deserts and flatlands of Thedas.

All I know is that I have spent my years of my magical existence in clever, observant roaming and study, never provoking the slightest danger from my own kind, and never arousing their knowledge or suspicions.

You probably find me flexible, daring, and now and then a shock. But what can I do but draw upon the fullest descriptive power I can command, right? Wrong. It's somewhat the same reason why I have no steady, conscious interest to narrate this unless I'm all happy smiles and rainbows... riding the rainbow once, going down on the gutter for eternity, as the Fereldan saying goes. It would be better if I do it all the time, for you'd get to know me much better and much easier... But hah, no. I'm not spoiling my own fun. Father was a wise man in teaching me this lesson. Don't spoil all the fun when you're dealing with clever, much intelligent people that can figure things out on their own and probably even much better than you do yourself - they'll teach you in turn things about yourself that you haven't yet deciphered in your schizophrenic little mind. Me and me and me agree.

It's a damned compliment to you, right there! Not the schizophrenic part, silly! The clever, more intelligent people part. Well now, look at the irony in there. I had to point it out right when I was in the middle of overexerting my muscles to explain that one should not spoil the fun... ah, whatever. I did the same thing with Varric, with Fenris, with everyone. They figured it me out on their own. You did too, and if not, there is still time. Remember? I don't know how to die.

I have a brain as well as a heart, and there hovers about me an etheric visage of myself, created most definitely by some "Higher Power" and entangled completely within the intangible weave of that etheric visage is what men call a soul (hah, you probably thought I was gonna say some magic crap). Nope, just the one soul. I have such. No amount of blood can drown away its life and leave me but a thriving revenant (it's funny because if I get possessed, being a warrior as well as a mage, I'm not sure if I will be transformed into a Revenant or an Arcane Horror. Someone somewhere that I found extremely annoying once is now echoing in my head with "That remains to be seen." Well, I can't argue with that. Probably the honesty of that statement and my honest confirming of it thereafter is testament to how Fenris has never in truth hated or despised me).

But I accuse myself again of going on and on, and I do, there is no doubt.

This chapter ought to be over.

And so embraced and protected, I write, ready for the moment when the full yet ever obscure moon leaves me for the hideaway of clouds, to light the candles that stand ready... OH BULL. Don't scream at me, I'll quit my bullshitting now.

What I'm gonna do is tell you what happened just after we realized Fenris and I were still holding hands.

It was pretty stupid.

* * *

><p>As soon as we looked at our hands, we shot each other awkward glances. My smile could not have been more crooked. I thought he was going to shove my hand away like a dead weasel and just head off in the distance like it was no big deal. No matter how many thoughts you read from his perspective, there was less than almost nothing that he had leaked on the outside. And why not? It was the talent of a fighter stamped by cruelty and death to appear nonchalant and stalwart, almost perfectly resolute. Understand, in my eyes, he was all there in times of danger, and only half there in times of calm and peace. The only time in which I felt he was all there with me was when Fenris first kissed me in my mansion like a week or two ago, and the night before and this morning when we woke up. No matter his tigerish passion and his warm embraces, Fenris was still very private about his feelings, and the only way I knew whatever the nature of those feelings were, was ultimately by his actions. Forget drunken thoughts and feelings, speeches and hot-headed impulsive kisses. One day or another we had to both be sober and willing to speak our minds and settle this - whatever we were doing - like fully grown adults... Yeah, I didn't believe me either. I equally looked forward and dreaded our arrival in Kirkwall because of this. We were walking on a path of no return, either way.<p>

But to get back to the story, after we shot those private glances at each other, just for a moment, Fenris gave me a short, playful little smile, affection shooting out through the cracks of his indomitable gaze. I watched those wonderful traceries of his bone-hard expression, his green eyes going brighter for a moment all alight with warmth in them, and the paleness of his lips catching a subtle rosy nuance, ripe and lovely, as the corners of his mouth stretched into that little smile just for me.

It felt like everything was going into slow motion, when those warm eyes left me to look forward and that smile simply died - it turned into a hideous image, as his eyes flinched and opened wide, stripped of all livelihood and hope, no warmth in them at all, and I felt his heart stiffen into one big, painful, horrific throb. That throb propelled horrifically throughout all the veins in his body and petrified them in ice down to that soft grip of his hand that was holding mine. Then everything rushed into rapid, even more terrifying motion; time felt like it thrust and cleaved its claw into my being and down to my own hand, when, with the quickness of a burning arrow, Fenris let go.

My own quickness of a well-trained warrior dictated that I should snap out of that image and look forward to see what the hell had struck him like some defenseless little ant; I looked forward and the only things I saw were Varric and Isabela going into the carriage while bitching at each other at the end of the bridge. Then somewhere in my peripheral vision, I spotted some grey and black figures going into the historical building by the bridge, the first building one saw when they entered the midst of Antiva City. It was now an inn called La Luna Affondata, so roughly or pretty much literally, The Sunken Moon. A bit of irony there, remembering the Sunk'n Orlesian Inn back home which was quite the opposite of a fancy, cough-causing perfumed and luxurious place, but this was no time to laugh over subtleties. I didn't know if that was what scared him, but I had no real time to analyze and overthink a faint little image I didn't even catch in its wholeness. Another quickness of instinct, that had nothing to do with the warrior in me, made its way out of my mouth.

"Are you alright?" I asked.

Fenris appeared to have not even heard me; so pale and petrified was he, that I could scarce even trace my thoughts. I locked my eyes on him and my voice was a bit shaky.

"Fenris?"

Understand, Fenris doesn't have a childish face, even if I sometimes I press that he has an almost angelic one. His eyebrows were strong, dark, high enough over his eyes to allow them entirely too much luster. His elfish forehead would be a little too high if it wasn't so straight, and if he didn't have so much thick and white hair, making as it does a rich, unsurpassable frame for the whole picture. And of course, his body was overmuscular for an elf, he was much taller than the fellows of his race (and I wouldn't admit it but he was a bit, really taller than me when I had no boots; in the Antivan catacombs, when _he _wore boots, he was a mountain next to me). He was strong, broad-chested, his arms were stamped with well sculptured muscles, giving an impression of manly power. This rather rescued his obdurate-looking jaw and tattooed chin and allowed him to pass for a full-fledged human, at least from a distance. Of course, this well-developed physique he owed to tremendous practice with the heavy battle sword in the last years of his life, which was not something he took open pride with, considering for a good part of his years, it hadn't been at all voluntary.

To see this bull-headed, and just as much calm elf now looking petrified and in a whole other way, cold, was something bewildering. I didn't know what to make of his expression. You could have seen the very same face on a man startled by an insect or an approaching battalion of bloody murderers. My head was full.

When he didn't answer, I asked his name again.

At last, Fenris caught motion again. Well, his eyes did. They flinched and his head turned to look at me with some kind of hate or fire or ... something. It was a very sharp look. I looked in haunted perplexity and appalling sorrow.

Thinking back now, it hadn't occurred to me to think that this was the lingering expression that painted him when he saw whatever he had seen. I didn't think to guess that this look was not really meant for me at all.

At that moment however, I was frightened and Fenris caught the look on my face. As he did, his eyebrows furrowed into some low, ashamed look and he quickly coughed. His face went dark and he turned his head forward again with a lowered gaze. No more traceable were his green eyes, for the richness of his white hair had covered it all. All I saw was the corner of his lips tighten sharply and then, with the fullness of a deep, decisive tone, he said, "The sun is setting. Let us be off."

For some reason, from the way he was walking much more humpback and stiff than usual, I thought that he might not want to take over and drive with me as we first agreed to. Without thinking it, some voice in me said he would do well to stay in the carriage, where no eyes could spot him.

I swallowed inside and almost shouted, "Fenris, I- do you mind if you get inside and let Isabela take your place for now? I have a bone to pick with her."

He frowned at me, as if I'd insulted him.

I tried to smile a bit as I said calmly, "You said you were exhausted, remember?" To that he looked bewildered, as if he had totally forgotten just how exhausted and dead he was from the last few restless days. I kept my stout-hearted, yet rather softer voice and said, "Sleep it off, what do you say?"

He narrowed his eyes and inhaled shortly, then with a small lift to his eyebrows in a fairly attempted fit of nonchalance, he climbed into the carriage and muttered, "As you wish."

My mind resolved that sitting with Varric at the back would also be easier, since he was the last one to annoy or prod him in any way. For a long time, unbeknownst to the others and even to me, Fenris and Varric became more than just some drinking pals that also happened to be working together. They became good friends. But they were men and they didn't talk about it, of that much I was sure. However stupid that seemed even for me, men needed other men to be friends with. Even if I was no ordinary woman, some things in nature simply can't be changed and they dictate that friendships between opposite genders and friendships between the same gender, are always going to be a bit different. At any rate though, Varric had the master's tact of calming and soothing any kind of person, which of course made it much easier to be in his company when you also considered him a friend and you were used to his easygoing, "Teh, please" attitude. That and of course, he had the Diamond Back cards.

Meanwhile, I resolved to teach Isabela exactly how to maneuver the horses, because there would surely come a time when I would be too exhausted to do it and I was not going to let Fenris take over just to become overly annoyed at her teasing jokes and, in his words, "inane prodding". Of course, at the time, I didn't even think about all of this. I just did what my muscle dictated. Or intuition or perception or whatever bullshit women have when they just know stuff.

A few minutes in, I was rambling about the technique as if were the mighty God of Carriages. "So you keep a strong hold like this over your knuckles and whenever the horsies feel like sliding away the main road you just –"

"I know what you're doing," Isabela cut me with all the cat-like, quiet and perceptive voice that screamed accusation.

"Well then, by all means take over," I said with a smile.

"I'm not talking about the horsies and you know it," Isabela cut me again with a wink.

With a contained lift to my eyebrows, I cleared my throat and resumed to watch the road. "You really wanna interrogate me now and cause drama, when I can throw you off the edge into the evergreen forests with only a lift to this harness, Ship-Captain of the Raindrops?"

Isabela chuckled softly and raised a playful eyebrow as she said, "Well now, Knight-Captain Bullshit On the Long Road, I can't wait to scream out of my lungs what _you know_ I will scream if you do attempt to throw me. Now _that_'s gonna be dramatic, don't you think?"

"Ee-_ghad, _whatever," I muttered grumpily and shook my head. I kept my eyes on the road, but of course she pressed.

"I know you-"

"_Keep_ your voice down, Madam Butterfly," I cut her sharply.

She cleared her throat as she rolled her eyes and whispered tactfully, "You're not far from the truth by calling me that, y'know. I was fairly close to offing myself when I saw," she raised a saucy eyebrow, "what I saw."

"Such a shame that you didn't go all the way through with it," I said quietly. When she didn't say anything, my thoughts went scattered and I gulped. Keeping my eyes on the road, I whispered, "Now what would that be, exactly, that which you saw?"

"Let's just say I saw enough to win the small bet I made with Fairy Godmother back there, but not enough to win the grand prize," Isabela whispered cockily.

"Oh, how awful," I mocked, rolling my eyes.

"The only question is," Isabela started and shot me a flirtatious grin, "_am I _going to win the grand prize? Did I already win it?"

I turned my head back on the road. Birds were flying up in the sky. Chipmunks were cutting my path. Stubborn little…

"Well?" she pressed.

"Oh, look a- "

"Quit your bullshit, the chipmunks are okay," Isabela said sharply.

I growled in annoyance and looked at her only with the back of my eye, "Don't hold your breath."

"Well… I'm going broke," Isabela whispered. "So either you do _everyone _a favor and get it over with, or I'll have to take matters into my own hands."

"Threats?" I asked in surprise. "Really, Cobrateeth, is that how you wanna play me?"

"I always get things done," Isabela said. "I'm effective like that. Never mind the means."

"Oh great, now I'm supposed to believe you'd go as far as holding us under the guillotine and cutting the rope ever so slightly every time we refuse with a loud _Mwa-ha-ha, fuck or die, my puppets,_" I said grumpily.

"Well, I wouldn't go that far, but," Isabela whispered, then her eyes sparkled with mischief, "What's a better way to die than during sex, really?"

"That's what you tell to comfort yourself after every bad fuck on your part, isn't it?" I asked with a grin.

"Not on my part," Isabela chuckled. "I can't wait to see who dies first."

"From me or you, when I decide you're at the end of my nerves and happy rainbows of understanding?" I whispered sharply.

"From you or him, either from the impossible tension or_ during_ the very act," Isabela mused. "Considering how much he scares me shitless, I'm thinking it's best if you back off now."

"Don't be ridiculous," I said with a smirk. "I never die in defeat."

"That's usually the arrogant thing people say before they die in the dumbest way possible, like killed on the toilet when you take your morning dump," Isabela laughed softly.

"That's how your husband was assassinated, isn't it?" I asked perceptively, grinning at her to no end.

Isabela widened her eyes for a second, then lowered her gaze and smirked, "He told you."

"Oh?" I almost shouted and smiled, "In all seriousness, he didn't," I laughed. "But good to know. I'm usually terrible at guessing."

"Dear Captain Fortunepants…You _never _guess," Isabela said and rolled her eyes at me with an accusatory air. She pointed at her. "I never guess either." She gestured with her hand, "We think, we ponder, we spot the unspottable, then we connect the dots; so quickly it seems like it's just a lucky guess." She pointed at me now. "What you're terrible at is seeing what's right in front of you. Kind of like a deliberate and reserved blind spot for dummies."

"Oh, Captain… I could say the same thing about you," I said bitterly, and resumed watching the road in silence.

A few hours passed and I was dead-beat. I didn't say anything, but Varric hit me on the shoulder a few too many times for me to ignore him and continue swimming – drowning more likely – in the sea of my knightly overresistance. He told me to quit my crap and go in the back. I said, "Yes, Sir" and quit my crap.

In the back, Fenris was in deep sleep. I fell into the back seat next to him without much care, too exhausted to remove boots or chainmail or daggers or anything else (I changed from that dress of course). I thought I'd fall into a deep sleep, but I lay rigid, full of hatred, and hurt, and swollen broken soul, staring into the dark, my mouth full of death as if I'd eaten it. Only after did I realize, it was not I who was feeling this.

* * *

><p><strong>The Fade<strong>

I was thrown off into some dark room, far away from the one little candle shimmering in the distance.

Well, I saw now there was a cavernous room, carved high and deep out of the earth, and faced with stone, and that it was full of varied dusty things. There were old chests and even old books in heaps. And two bolted doorways. My heart didn't swallow itself in fear until I saw the chains.

Fenris was in those chains, shackled like a dog against the dark stone wall. His face was covered by the fullness of his white hair, because his head was hanging low and he was coughing, breathing horribly. Then he was silent again, as if nothing was of importance, and this was all just routine screeching his bones and his flesh.

There was a man in front of him, sitting on chair near that one little candle on a table, and he was also silent. He looked at Fenris as if he waited for something, because even if Fenris's hair and arms were bloody, it didn't seem like he was dying or close to fainting from pain. The man simply looked at him, as if to savor the grand of effigy of Fenris's helplessness.

His hair was thick and black, hanging sleekly onto his shoulders, but I couldn't see his face, no, not at all, for the hat he wore overshadowed it, and I caught but a glimpse of very white skin, the line of his jaw and a bit of his neck, for nothing else was visible. Beside the crossbow on the table, he had a broadsword of immense size leaning over it, with an antique scabbard, and casually over one shoulder was a cloak of some wine-dark, almost maroon velvet trimmed in what seemed to my distant eyes to be ornate heraldry symbols on his cloak.

I strained, trying to make them out, this border of signs, and I thought I could see a dragon and serpent worked into his fancy adornments over his armor, but I was really too far away.

"Is this how you want to spend the rest of your precious little seconds before you die?" the man asked him with an edge to his voice. "Shooting me dirty looks when I already know you despise me?"

Fenris remained silent for a few seconds, then he finally raised his gaze to the man. His eyes were empty, his expression was flat, unshakable and his voice was cold.

He breathed a bit hoarsely, then he said, "What do you prefer?"

The man raised from his chair and it almost fell back off, so forcefully and quick did he go up.

"A little remorse for killing an innocent man," he demanded.

I couldn't see clearly, but I could swear I spotted a dark smirk through Fenris's hair.

"Innocent?" he asked. With all the fullness of disgust, Fenris then growled, "Don't make me laugh."

"He was my brother," the man almost shouted, his hands clenching horribly into fists.

Fenris didn't flinch one bit, so unconquerable and tranquil he seemed to be. No worry for death or pain in his forest-green eyes. He locked his gaze onto the man with sharp, utter contempt. "And so I should feel sorry about obvious realities that all the people that come to kill me have siblings, and parents, and even children?" he asked.

He spat strongly.

Then he shook his head and disgust fell through his nostrils, his lips were crooked. "It was your choice to go after a slave," he almost hissed. "How are you better than me, I wonder?"

"You," the man shouted in a hoarse voice, as he approached Fenris and pointed at him in sheer hatred as he continued yelling, "have _no one_."

"Oh?" Fenris asked in a perfectly calm tone, his green eyes empty. "I'm heartbroken."

"You soon will be," the man hissed and turned around.

Again, I could almost swear I saw a ghost of a disgustful smirk drawing up on Fenris.

"I am going to disappoint you," he said flatly.

The Tevinter hunter, now I realized, turned around and again shouted, which made him look like a complete fool consuming himself twice more than one should, in contrast to Fenris, whose green eyes and deep tone painted the effigy of an utterly fearless, calm and unwavering prisoner.

The man, as I was saying, shouted, "Are you going to spew some thwarted romantic line that the poor little wolf has no heart to be broken in the first place?"

"No," Fenris cut him flatly. His eyes were unfaltering as he stood there crucified in the chains against the wall. He kept his gaze locked onto the soldier. "I have a heart. This I have."

Then his eyes lowered, and he pressed them shut for a second. A second too much that I saw utter pain in them. That distinct, hidden sting in one's soul, so sharp and small that it helplessly dictated the whole of one's being.

When they opened, his voice was again, deep and flat, without much further ado, "What I also have is a brain, so it is fairly certain that I will die of boredom from your foolish prattle before you ever get to_ break it_."

The hunter lost his temper. It was final. He went for his crossbow, but then for a second, he stopped and glanced at the Tevinter broadsword. He broke into anger with his gripping of the sword, and as he caught it in his hands and approached his captive, he put the sword horizontally against his neck. The neck of an undaunted, resolute captive. Indeed, Fenris didn't even flinch.

"Do you remember the words for Maker's Prayer, slave?" the man growled and bumped the sword only slightly against Fenris's neck.

"I must have been asleep from the incense when they thought us that one," Fenris said coldly, unfaltering.

"Say it," the soldier hissed. Only know did I realize they were speaking in Tevene, and somehow I understood it all. "Come now, I will give you a head start. Our Maker, which art in Heaven. Hallowed be Thy Name..."

Fenris looked at him as if he was an idiot. His expression was pale and empty in his silence. The creaking noise of the wind going through the window is the answer he gave him.

"PRAY FOR YOUR DELIVERENCE, SLAVE," the hunter shouted in anger. "Do it now before I cut your throat."

I thought for a second, Fenris would simply roll his eyes and hiss at him to go on with it already before he falls asleep from boredom, but in turn, I saw a rapid flash of fear in him as he swallowed inside. He lowered his eyes and articulated hoarsely, "Thy kingdom come."

"Yes," the man said and nodded. "Continue."

The last thing I saw was a scornful, ferocious face painting onto Fenris. I saw his teeth gritting.

Then for some cruelly inexplicable reason (I couldn't hear myself shouting and I couldn't move, I was like a point in the air) I felt some sort of dark little vortex absorbing me into Fenris's mind. I simply twirled around in a thread of darkness shooting right inside Fenris and then the image changed.

* * *

><p>Rapidly, I saw that he was in the same predicament. Fenris was crucified with chains against the wall. His head was lowered and his eyes were closed. I knew at once he hung there fainted.<p>

Then a splash of cold water slapped him awake. He barely opened his eyes, and in a second, he fell on the ground when the chains were undone. The image was so cold and quiet, and he was, just the same, that the point in the air that I was felt like breaking into tears. This was the image of pure mockery and submission.

"Get up," a feminine voice said. The face, I didn't see, but the tone, the sound, that voice – it bore the fullness of poison.

Down on the ground and silent, Fenris tried to get up. Beyond the pool of freezing water he lied almost soulless in, there lingered crusted blood stains, traces of vomit and rotten peas.

He tried, but he scarcely could.

He was bruised and pale beyond that old vest of his, and from what I saw on his bare fingers, they had the horrific traceries of thumbscrews. The muscles on his arm were shaking horrifically as he pressured himself against his hands to get up. I felt his lack of strength, the stiffened muscles in his throat, and his heart barely beating in his chest.

"_Today, _Wolf Boy," the voice commanded again sharply.

He tried again, he truly did. He put his knees against the ground and I saw in him the old statues of slaves in the Gallows.

"By the Void, you're truly worthless," the woman's voice hissed. "Is _that _how do such a remarkable job in guarding your Master, White Pup Of The Feeble And The Infirm? By looking worthless and hoping his enemies will break inside at the sight of utter weakness?"

The mockery was unbearable.

His once kind-hearted, strong eyes with all that ripe green in them, they were empty now. Worse than empty. They had the void in them, the sheer ghost of hopelessness and degradation.

I felt his thoughts as he slowly and sickly raised his eyes to look at the figure.

_Curse you, _his thoughts said. _Curse you in Hell._

"Good-for-nothing waste of my time," the voice shouted in exasperation. I saw the back of the figure dressed in a silk robe of pale-violet. She kicked him in the stomach with no shame.

He didn't flinch or growl. He made no sound. He got up on his own.

But from the hollow mouth of darkness beyond the opening there came only a low satin laughter, a mocking laughter, and this it seemed was echoed by others, and I heard a powerful thundering of steps, as though several scorching shadows had commenced at once to harrow Hell upon him.

Thus the image changed, and I saw him thrown on the ground ruthlessly in front of a black velvet pair of shoes and a midnight-violet and green fancy robe. One of those shoes came to Fenris's forehead, moving his head mockingly to show his face. It was empty and beaten.

"It was not enough, was it?" a man's make-believe patient voice said. Then came the hateful fakeness of a heavy sigh.

"I'd have let him rot for a few more days," the woman's voice said with a disgustful tone. Her voice was so sharp and thin it deafened and scratched, and in all honesty it would have aroused a duty into anyone to cut her tongue out and throw it to the wolves, however ironically.

"_I decide _what becomes of him," came the man's deep voice, cutting the woman short.

"Of course, Master," the woman said suavely. Ah, so by the robe and the way she addressed to the figure, she was an apprentice.

"Undo his vest," the man demanded of her. She did as he commanded. I only saw her hands undoing all the straps at the back of his dark vest, opening it ruthlessly, shoving it off.

"Leave us," the Master's voice commanded abruptly.

"As you wish," the woman's voice said, a bit of pride in it. As if it felt rewarding to be so smooth and respectful to her superior, one who obviously did not have any complaints on how she had handled the slave.

I could scarcely hold this image in my head, if I were not a point in the air. He didn't even need some magical bindings to hold him down. Fenris was in all the power of the word, subdued.

And at the mercy of his master.

I only saw the shoes and that one portion of his ugly robe. They walked around patiently behind him. Fenris was on his knees. His face was cold and indomitable, almost fooling you with the appearance of carelessness for whatever was meant to happen to him. A few seconds afterwards only did I see the corner of his lips curl when the man spoke.

"How did that one fascinating prayer of those worthless infidels who worship the 'Maker' go?" the man asked in a serene voice.

Fenris remained silent. I heard his imbalanced breathing as his eyes kept locked onto the ground, like those old statues.

"Give us this day our daily bread… And forgive us our trespasses," the man said. He chuckled for a moment. "What a remarkable line that is. Truly clear in its intent, and all the more foolish in its nature." He paused, and the pause seemed to last forever. "How can anyone justify such stupidity? Such an insult?"

Fenris didn't answer. The shoes kept walking around behind him.

I felt the heat rise in my face. I wanted to look from right to left, up to see that sick son of a bitch and remember his face when I would catch and kill him someday, but not before I'd repeatedly smack his face on the ground in his own blood, vomit and tears. Until he would beg.

All I saw, in turn, all I could behold, was Fenris. And his white cheeks and his dark mouth, which were all too often the color of fresh wounds. I stared at the blanched and colorless expression with which he regarded his predicament and the very ground. Were his eyes full of vengeful, hateful fire, or was it only that every other bit of humanity had been taken from his countenances?

"As we forgive those who trespass against us," the man continued. "How insane. Who even came up with that, I wonder?"

Silence again. The man inhaled and the shoes kept pacing. It the haunting quiet, it felt like every step echoed when it was made, and every one of those deep sounds hit Fenris in the head, shaking him, stinging, beating him. It didn't look like it, but I felt it in his soul. The steps, going and going, it was utter cacophony of pain.

His eyes curled only for a second, and they wished it would be over soon.

"I am inclined to believe that your body is urgently issuing for that… well, once-a-week bread," the man said. He was right. Only now did I notice, the distinct shadows along Fenris's bare torso, which shaped the terrible outlines of his ribs. He was still muscular, but the kind which was once ripe and then degraded by anemia. "But seeing as how you don't want to learn, I cannot afford to give you what you need, can I?"

Silence again. Fenris almost shuddered when he heard his name. "You can speak now, Fenris."

"No, Master, you cannot afford to," Fenris said flatly, empty eyes on the ground.

"And what about the forgiving of our trespasses as we forgive the ones who trespass against us?" the man asked calmly, every step throbbing on the ground.

"You have forgiven me for my humiliating you in front of the Archon at the procession the other day as I forgive you for humiliating me now, Master," Fenris articulated every word rather melodically, as if he was instructed that he should talk clearly every time he was allowed to.

"Very good," the man approved calmly. "You are just as bright as I wagered you would be."

Fenris didn't say anything. The man spoke again, "You can say it, Fenris."

Since he was with his back turned, Fenris pressed his eyes tightly as he said it, "Thank you, Master."

"Then let us proceed," the man said in a very taunting voice.

What I saw next was the worst.

The rapid clack of a spiked whip. But that was not the worst.

The worst was that Fenris's eyes went tightly shut, but never flinched, and never shuddered.

The sound of the next lash sent it right into me. I felt it as if I were him, with all the literary meaning. Only after did I realize, that the man bound him with a blood spell that kept him in place, and that as it also happened, kept his skin alive and sensitive, to repel any sort of numbing effect from his wide reserves of warrior adrenaline. People like us didn't really feel the pain when we were alarmed, but the spell kept it all there, alive and lashing, and lashing…

And then the words of his exquisite tormentor came back, "What happened, Fenris? Did you forget how to count?"

Fenris inhaled very quickly, as if he had cursed himself in his thoughts. Then again I did hear those curses perhaps.

"No, Master," he said. "Forgive me. I shall begin counting as of now."

"Good, Fenris," the man said very suavely. Another clack of the whip came thrashing.

"Three," Fenris uttered with all the strength he still had in his voice.

"Three?" the man asked in outrage. "Do you often start counting with three?"

_Curse you, _I heard him think. _Curse you son of a pig._

"Forgive me, Master," Fenris said. "I shall start again."

The lash came again, this time I felt it again too, but from beginning to end. Fenris didn't flinch, didn't shudder.

"One," he said flatly.

And then another. It propelled out of time as if it were the utter sounds of catastrophe, of every soul that had ever suffered, all here into one being.

"Two," Fenris said again, not even wavering for a harrowing that was every second.

Rather than saying Fenris had no power or willingness of his own, it felt and was so, that all his power and willingness he had reserved with all his dedication, to endure this.

And keep it together.

"Three," Fenris counted calmly, only a bit did his voice seem to stutter in its hoarseness.

I felt all of it, and I could scarce numb it out by some clever channeling technique to trick the Fade that was tricking me. I felt it all and I was going mad. Not because of my pain, but because of his, which he kept all inside, with no whisper, no shudder, no little sound. All Fenris did was swallow it inside and move now and again from the inertia of the whiplashes.

Propelled out of time, on and on it went, and I didn't even realize it had gotten up to the double-digits.

"Forty-four," came Fenris's voice as unperturbed and deeply flat as always.

I could hear the man exasperating. It had not occurred to me, that his master was growing terribly tired of the continuous whiplashing and of Fenris's unyielding, resolute attitude. He considered it rebellious. He considered it an insult, just as much as I felt he enjoyed the hell that was burning worse than Fenris's back, in his soul, as he tried to keep an inflexible expression.

It was just as much a game for his master as it was for him. Taunting the man with passivity. Showing him he would not get surpassed. Indeed there was some willingness left to him, and it inflamed Danarius just as much as it drew him to the elf. It irritated and made him see red.

What the man wanted was to hear the sound of his pain and the sound of his helplessness. What he fiercely desired was to hear Fenris beg him to stop. For that was the only thing that would stamp his humiliation. But what I knew, was that Fenris would not let even one poor groan escape his lips. What I didn't know was why.

When I heard Danarius sigh in annoyance, as contained as he could, I saw and now I was sure, that Fenris smirked powerfully through his hair.

Pride was what possessed them both. Hatred was what kept Fenris perfectly still, while malice was what animated those shoes. A small joy at his exasperation, to the contained sighs of the voice that tormented him with the lash that I felt now, bore the memory of his pain. Hundreds, thousands of whiplashes, and no other future one was less excruciating and gut-wrenching than the last one.

_Forty-four minutes of target practice, all hell's breaking loose._

The man's voice came growling.

The shoes came thrashing.

He caught Fenris by the shoulder and brought him up and turned him around. I saw his back – the Lament of Andraste was nothing compared to the horror painted across the canvas of that back. The wounds, straight and vertical, perfectly precise, carefully ignoring every thread of his markings.

"You mean to mock me again, Fenris?" the man shouted at him.

I felt the hatred now more than ever in his soul. His thoughts said he wanted to kill him. His thoughts said he will one day kill him, if it was the last thing he ever did.

Fenris didn't answer, but he breathed. His answer was perfect. His talent to play with technicalities was most refined, indeed, because that was the most marvelous spit into his Master's face as _he _was the first to lose it – Fenris couldn't answer unless he was given permission to. And beholding now his master's crumbling temper, since he had forgotten now of that little detail he himself appointed with all the might of his authority… it was more powerful than any little triumphant smirk.

I will kill you one day. This, I swear.

Then came the vortex again, twirling me inside and into Fenris again, and the image propelled and shook yet again. It's as if the all the emotion, all the rancor, all the hate and all the drive that dictated Fenris's constant soul, had gathered again into an immensely powerful blast of a deathblow.

I came out of his eyes, and I saw them evergreen, alight with fire. We were back into the moment the hunter held his own sword against Fenris's throat, mocking and demanding of him to tell the prayer.

That evergreen light in his eyes, made his being invulnerable. It was testament to having a heart that would never yield. They had seen too much to be shaken, and his skin felt too much to shudder.

The wind blew inside again, shoving the window open. Instinctively, the hunter turned around to behold the surprising force. In slow motion it seemed to happen, that Fenris got his arm out of the shackles that he previously worked on to slowly outmaneuver. In a flash of a second, he pushed the horizontal sword onto the hunter's throat as he growled all the more ferociously now, "Thy will be done."

* * *

><p><strong>Back Into The World<strong>

When I opened my eyes, it was because I gasped as my lungs failed in my sleep. I gasped and shuddered and instinctively looked to my right. The first harrowing second of my waking up bore the memory, alive in my soul, just as much as I knew that he woke up at the same time with the same terrible reaction.

As he looked at me, all with the same flat, invulnerable expression, I was about to break into tears.

But I kept myself together. I would never break. He needed a rock as hard or even harder than himself to cling onto before he would crumble, even if I knew he would get up again, with the same cold, unbending face. But that face I wouldn't begin to bear when I knew and I had seen, just how rich and ripe and free, and full with warmth the subtle traceries of his expression could animate it to.

He was not aware that I saw what I saw. I knew that much.

I swore right then and there, that I would never let him go back to a constant cold expression he worked however tiredly to keep for his own protection –from the hunters, from the world, from himself. He would never have to defend himself from me.

More so, I would be there, I would _ensure _that Fenris got his turn to grab that disgusting son of a pig by the collar of his pretentious ugly robes and watch with my own cold, in fact genuinely cold expression, as Fenris would growl "Count this, you could never get it wrong. You only get as far as One" and then he would break his neck, drop him dead on the ground and viciously spit on him with all the fullness of nonchalance. Burn in hell and have a swell eternity, 'Master'.

Back to the harrowing reality inside the ever-hopping silent carriage, Fenris closed his eyes halfway and rested his head sideways against the wall, and all the more quiet was his breathing in and out than the deafness of the ride.

There were no words, because for one, I couldn't afford to tell him what I saw, and for two, all my strength and will were reserved to my refusal to break right then and there.

A gesture was enough.

I was driven mechanically, to be honest.

I rested my head back again and kept silent as I put my hand over his, none too insistent or abrupt in the touch.

I was enveloped by darkness again, my head, my soul, my heart all too crushed and tired to bear reality more than a few seconds more.

The last thing I saw were his fingers that were resting coldly on the seat, slowly curl and tangle themselves into mine.


	23. The Clown, The Knight, The Insanity

**Alright so this has 3 parts: first a monologue, then some dialogue and descriptive richness that has to do with Fenris and Hawke, then there's an incident on the road you'll most likely enjoy 'cause it has a lot of bullshitting in the face of danger. Enjoy!**

**I dedicate this to Julie.**

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><p>I was born after the war, therefore I delve in all, and blend without prejudice. Fereldans are not very open people though, do not doubt that. As a perfectly hidden apostate, I learned to be human more than anything else. I learned, dime a dozen, what it means to be cruel and what it means to be stamped by evil and prejudice nonetheless, and these deeds and horrors that I learned pertained little to anything magic. I've seen humans, elves and dwarves mistreated with the same equal amount of malice. In all my years, I haven't once learned to swallow it though. No, I always stuck my nose where "it doesn't belong" if I had the power to, because I am not one lower my gaze, cough shortly and walk past the theatrical scene of life in all its ugliness pretending it's not my business. That's rather the Kirkwall fashion though, I swear it's almost poetic. I try to lessen these things. That some higher good pertains to what I do now, as a noble-in-disguise Kirkwall citizen and Free Marcher? That I am fairly open to doubt.<p>

As for my native Ferelden, hear it softly when you say my name, Hawke, and breathe it like perfume, because that's as soft as it can get. We are not Anderfelian, cold, harsh and unsurpassable by the slightest of human emotion, but we do remain invulnerable to most conquest over our weaknesses. I suppose it's because we have a rather distinct collective feeling of belonging, of pride related to all the sweat and blood of our ancestors, and in so anything short of scorn against this pride is unacceptable. We strive for our independence like the wild birds protect their eggs and their nest from any incoming vulture. It's utter dedication to stand our ground and protect our kin.

What kin? Well, it's not like I'd met the king or anything, but I'd met the poorer children of Ferelden, the sons of the merchants, orphans and boys from the monasteries and schools, the elves in the villages, some servants, some standalone families living on the edge, at the risk of getting attacked by some drunken lords. I met some of those lords too and I could scarcely bring myself to hold it together and not spit in their face or satirize them at least. It's a good thing I had Father with me at those times. I'd met a lot of different kinds of people, and I had no prejudice, because that is the way it was with our rules of living and conduct if a family of apostates commenced to survive in the free world. You had to mix with the people.

And that my trade tongue, well, Ferelden tongue still but in a genuine accent, my friends find it fascinating… well, I find it a bit amusing. Fascinating in that my mutterings are so colorful, accented as they are, with a stinging sound most curious to it. Amusing to me because I find everything amusing when it's about me. I'm a proud clown I am. But a thriving romantic, a princess, a most beautiful aristocratic maiden or even a queen of the underworld, I'm not. A vagabond good-doer mage disguised as such, maybe I will be, who knows.

But to yield to some soft lustrous pronunciation, that right there is a big no-no. I do not have the soft tune of an Antivan, with blandishments most pretty as I utter them. Antivans really have a distinct fire in their accent, with love for everything and everyone, and it feels as though anything directed at them and anything they direct at the world in turn is a constant source of bliss for them.

Me? Not so much. Fereldens in comparison, do seem like they speak the very language of unemotion. I find that curiously rhapsodic though, in that it is in fact, way better, to my preference at least, to open your ears with more effort in finding the emotion, the melody, the subtle sounds of lively creation in a rather passive tune to one's quiescent, languid or rampant course, words are powerful in every respect, but the art of listening to them, deciphering and swallowing the wholeness of what they create, is a higher art than simply reading and hearing and then going like "Ah, mhm, mhm. Fascinating." Music is just the same, painting is just the same. There's a whole nucleus of immense charge ready to blast upon the world and jolt your insides and make your heart choke in its convulsion of defeat – once the right ear or eye commence to absorb and understand it, of course.

And again, I accuse myself that I mutter too much nonsense.

Forgive me, I have gone a bit soft. Ferelden's Independence Day is soon and I am currently in a gondola in Antiva City pondering on so much that I have lost with the Blight because feelings.

Oh right, I haven't made this clear. I fell asleep again and I was in the Fade _again_. This is going to be **short**, but of course I had to ramble first to make you want to scratch your eyes out, because I'm very much a sadist when it comes to these things. And since I said it like that, you can rest assured this short episode is not going to be graphically cruel and heartbreaking in any way. I will also cease with this overly personal way of telling the story and commence to now abuse of my full descriptive power, as in of course third person, because I know that some prefer first and some prefer the other, and I feel very democratic about my annoying everyone. So let us make haste with ending this tale!

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><p><strong>Fiume di Speranza (River of Hope), The Fade<strong>

He stood thinking of his painful memories. His despair of the three nights had perhaps penetrated too deep.

He couldn't catch them. So be it. They scurried into the nothingness rather like the leaves in the alleyways, the leaves that sometimes tumble down and down the stained green walls from the little gardens whipped in the wind up there on the rooftops.

_I don't want to, _Fenris's inner voice echoed.

Across the canal, men sang as they drove their long narrow gondolas, voices seeming to ring, to splash up the walls, delicate, sparkling, then dying away.

_Someday it will all come clear to you, when you have the strength to use it_, came a voice.

They were roaming about the rivers of the city in a long, narrow, black gondola, drinking from only one glass of wine. A mad disorder, an abundance for the sake of itself, a great drench of colors and shapes it seemed to be. The Fade was breathing tormented, striving to balance itself, all with the havoc propelling out and stubbornly trying to conquer the world. Fenris was shaking it. But the waters were still, the wind blew nonchalantly through Hawke's bloody red hair, long threads of it dancing in the air as she drank the wine, and equally content did it seem to touch and unsettle the shorter ivory richness that made his own hair. And the stars, they lay quiet still, pulsating with their light in the grandest of tranquility across the midnight sky. It was like the wine, too sweet and light.

It was full night. The breeze was sweet. A few lanterns had been lighted under the long streets.

Hawke took another sip while resting her hand against her head, with her elbow on the edge of the boat and a leg on top of the other. She pressed her lips and licked the wine away, then extended the hand with the glass towards him. Fenris was standing on the other seat in front of her, however ironically, occupying less space than her in his stiffened, resigned posture. She was conquering her side with no shame, whereas he rested his elbows on his knees, staring in blank. She didn't grimace at his deliberate ignorance, rather she just returned the glass to her lips and drank away.

The black gondola was coursing through the greenish waters, all with its two inhabitants that seemed to be invulnerable to the all the sounds and images of the sumptuous scarlet or gold cloaks hurrying along the quays. No, down in their boat of stillness, and moving them as they stood, they traveled in graceful darting silence among the facades and the light of the lanters; each huge house as magnificent as the cathedral in the distance, with its narrow pointed arches, its lotus windows, its covering of gleaming white stone in such radiant contrast with the weight of the black Antivan night.

Even the older, sorrier dwellings, not too ornate but nevertheless monstrous in size, were plastered in colors, a rose so deep it seemed to come from crushed petals, a green so thick it seemed to have been mixed from the opaque water itself.

"Don't be afraid," Hawke said finally and almost startled him – ironically – as her voice echoed greatly across the canal. "You look as though you are terrified."

"I am not afraid," Fenris said sharply, raising his eyes at her. Then his head fell. "It's only that I have to lie in my bed and think and remember and dream."

She looked at him, as he shyly looked away again.

"You are dreaming now," Hawke said and chuckled, with her nonchalant arm on the edge of the boat. "And you look a bit unsteady."

"And now I fear nightmares," Fenris growled bitterly, appearing to have ignored her and continue with his miserable speech. He looked around the river in silence and then his eyes fell upon her with a sudden switch to firmness. "You must tell me—what is our destination? What is our fate?"

To comfort him, to distract him maybe, or simply to return his ignoring her, she suddenly took up a brush and quickly astonished him with a picture that ran like a stream out of its quick application.

A man's face, cheeks, lips, eyes, yes, and fastidious white hair in profusion. Good Maker, it was him, he thought… it was not a canvas but a mirror. It was this… that Fenris, the way she pronounced it. She sighed and took over again, to refine the expression, to deepen the eyes and work a sorcery on the tongue so he seemed about to speak. What was this rampant magic that made an elven man appear out of nothing, most natural, at a casual angle, with eyes more alight and evergreen than the waters beneath, with the knitted dark eyebrows and streaks of unkempt straight and white hair over his sharp ear? It seemed both blasphemous and beautiful, this fluid, abandoned fleshly figure. Something about it was hidden, like a secret ingredient, and all stranger to him until he saw it right in front of him.

Hawke spelled the letters out in red as she wrote them: _Fenrir._ Then she threw the brush down. She cried, "That is not the name that describes this man."

He lowered his gaze for a moment, then looked up at her. "You are correct, that is not I. I am Fenris," he said flatly with an air of stubborness, articulating every word.

"Fenrir is the great wolf that was bound by the gods and shackled so he would not bring destruction with his rapid growth," she said calmly. "That is where your master got the name and changed a letter to make it sound like a _little_ subtle tribute to mockery. It is not elven."

He raised an eyebrow, a little interest shimmered in his green eyes. "Ferelden?"

"Ancient, ancient names… from times before it was ever called such," Hawke said calmly. "The name which my Father bestowed upon me also belonged to those times of old."

He looked down, as though he'd remembered something. With a faint air of shyness, he raised his head up and asked, "What does Hildegaard do to Fenrir?"

Hawke remained empty-eyed and reached with the glass towards him. He finally accepted and took a sip, not a second leaving his eyes off of her. She looked up at the sky, "Nothing."

Disappointment had struck his face. "What did they do then?" he asked.

She shook her head and closed her eyes. "Our names are not some testaments of fate." She inhaled deeply. "But…," she sighed, "if you really want to know-"

"I do," Fenris articulated deeply.

She took her leg off the edge of the boat and rested her elbows on her knees. She looked at him sturdily and said, "Fenrir was the most powerful being in the universe, and therefore the gods bound him. But no shackles were strong enough to tie him down. The gods wanted to know exactly how powerful he was, so they made three fetters. The first two were very strong, but the wolf tore them apart without effort."

"And the third one?" he asked, rising up from his humpback posture.

She curled her lips and gestured, "They last made a silken fetter, and the wolf said, 'It looks to me that with this ribbon as though I will gain no fame from it if I do tear apart, such a slender band, if it is made with art and trickery, then even if it does look thin, this band is not going on my legs.'"

Silken and soft, and all the more untraceable and unevident to the stubborn fool who bound himself in misery perhaps.

"Did it bind him?" Fenris asked quickly.

She smiled and beckoned for him not to be so hasty. The she resumed, "The gods wagered that he would quickly tear apart a silken strip, noting that Fenrir had already broke great iron binds," she gestured calmly, "and added that if Fenrir wasn't able to break that band then Fenrir is nothing for the gods to fear and as a result, he would be freed."

Fenris nodded calmly for her to continue.

She inhaled again and resumed with a risen arm, "To that Fenrir said 'If you bind me so that I am unable to release myself, then you will be standing by in such a way that I should have to wait a long time before I got any help from you. I am reluctant to have this band put on me. But rather than that you question my courage, let someone put his hand in my mouth as a pledge that this is done in good faith.'" She rolled her eyes and grinned, "Of course no god had the balls to do it."

Fenris broke into laughter at her quick switch from courteous to gutter language. The subtle traceries of her accent made it so that none appeared more melodic than the other. They all bore the sound of sweetness and strength, and utter couldn't-care-less sturdiness. She resumed, "The god of war finally stepped in and put his hand between the wolf's jaws. When Fenrir kicked, the band caught tightly, and the more Fenrir struggled, the stronger the band grew. At this, everyone laughed," she said, then pressed her lips and rested her arm over the edge of the gondola. "Except the god of war himself, who there lost his right hand."

"And he was fully bound?" Fenris asked.

She nodded. "They bound him tighter with a fetter and a stone slab and Fenrir reacted violently. He tried to bite the gods. They thrust a certain sword into his mouth, the hilt of the sword on Fenrir's lower gums and the point in his upper gums." She gestured again. "Fenrir howled horribly and saliva ran from his mouth, and this saliva formed the river Van." She smiled suddenly. "It is the ancient word for 'hope'."

"Did he ever get out?" he asked, ignoring to question why a beast, even a beast that seemed to be much wiser than the gods, would bear a river of hope.

Hawke looked up at the night sky, and so did he. "He was to lie there until the end of days. His two sons were to one day swallow the sun, and after the moon," she said serenely and gestured to the sky, "And then the stars would all disappear. Fenrir would break away from his bindings and hold the sky and the earth in his jaws."

Fenris lowered his gaze from the sky, back to Hawke. "Why didn't they just kill him?"

"Because…" she said and shook her head as though she thought them to be idiots, "they said that the gods respected their holy places so greatly that they did not want to," she gestured quotation marks, "defile them with the blood of the wolf even though the prophecies all foretold that he will be the death of their ruler."

Fenris chuckled suddenly. "Such excuses, that they would die like fools for it."

"I think that was just a pretentious big fat lie. They couldn't kill him, not even when he was in his worst state and in his darkest hour. He was simply too strong and too wise to be destroyed." Then she looked up at the sky again. "The end of the world was bound to happen either way. It did not matter."

Fenris watched through dazed eyes as she drank more of the wine in a glass that seemed self-replenishing. The sky darkened behind her, but bright, warm street lanterns on the quays filled up the outside night. Only the floor of the gondola itself was veiled in dreary shadow.

Her cool confidence chilled him. It chilled him that she had so fearlessly touched him, body and soul, and she was telling this story without much care that he would misunderstand and interpret as he wished. To be fair, it chilled him to think that nothing in his dreadful bestial nature repelled her in the first place.

"So Fenrir brought the end of the world as he broke free from his bonds?" Fenris asked, furrowing his brows.

Hawke shook her head suavely with her eyes closed. When she opened them, she smiled, "He was part of it, but he did not cause it. The greed of the world, of the gods and men alike, the cruelty and havoc they caused, they all brought the end of the world. In so, the world restored itself to peace."

"Without an end, there can be no peace," Fenris said quickly, though he had not resolved from where he had heard those words.

"There was also a mighty serpent," Hawke said and winked at him nonchalantly as though to pertain to the viper he had once named her, "it was cursed to tangle around the world and forever eat its tail until he would swallow himself whole. And that way –"

" – was the day the world ended," Fenris finished contemplatively.

"The ruler of the gods battled the wolf and he was swallowed by it, and another powerful one battled the serpent and died to it too. The other gods, good and evil, fought other creatures and died just as well." She gestured philosophically, her eyes alight with tranquility. "Beneath the sky, people fled their homes, and the sun became black while the earth sank into the sea, the stars vanished, steam rose and the flames touched the heavens."

Fenris's didn't answer, instead watched her think on it as she beheld the vault of the night sky. She then started to recite.

Brothers will fight

and kill each other,

sisters' children

will defile kinship.

It is harsh in the world,

whoredom rife

—an axe age, a sword age

—shields are riven—

a wind age, a wolf age—

before the world goes headlong.

No man will have

mercy on another.

It sates itself on the life-blood

of fated men,

paints red the powers' homes

with crimson gore.

Black become the sun's beams

in the summers that follow,

weathers all treacherous.

Then Hawke finished the poem very firmly, with half-lidded eyes, "Do you still seek to know? And what?"

Fenris looked down and pondered on it. For a moment he thought this might have meant that the wolf in question was but an impending necessary force that instead of bringing disaster, it brought upon the world hope. Then he finally got the courage to ask, "What about the river of hope?"

Hawke smiled warmly. "After the flames came, all the world was submersed into the water. Into Fernir's river of hope."

"So he saved the world," Fenris said calmly.

"Afterward, the world resurfaced anew and fertile," Hawke said and gestured. "And there was peace like never before. All surviving gods and men had learned from their blunder."

_You take a breath and look around, and start anew, _her past words came back into Fenris's ears.

With a more serene face than ever, Fenris then asked slowly, "What did Hildegaard do?"

She laughed all of a sudden and put a hand in her red hair, "What does it matter?"

Fenris smiled quickly. "Isn't she important to the tale?"

Hawke shook her head and opened her mouth halfway. "None of them are important."

"I would still like to know," Fenris pressed calmly. He entangled his fingers and looked at her as though he said he was not going to leave it be. She understood it and smiled.

"She had the power to revive the dead in battlefields and used it to maintain the ones who would do good in the world, if time hadn't taken theirs so quickly," Hawke said, then looked down. "Valkyries were the 'choosers of the slain'. They chose the ones who died in battle. Hildr or," she rolled her eyes, "Hildegaard, played a bit with technicalities and in a way, rebelled against the ruler of the gods, the one who made her. She rose higher than her own predicament. She found a loophole, if you will," she gestured and smiled widely. "She… resolved to be more than what she was created for, what her nature dictated her to be." She winked to Fenris and shot him a silver grin. "She resolved to be a guardian angel."

Now her first use of magic when she saved him in the mansion, all the other times thereafter, and especially the Deep Roads incident, not to mention her massive healing in the Antivan catacombs that brought her to absolute crazy afterwards, they bore a certain fragrance of all that was poetic. She protected Fenris from the start, and used the 'borrowed time' to bring out from him all that was good that he had been a stranger to before he had met her. Then he remembered a discussion they had on his roof, where Fenris once said he was but a shadow of a man, and she would bring that shadow in the world for everyone to see. The light that she was, held hands with the shadow and followed each other wherever they went, like inseparable friends wed to one another by nature itself. But apart from lousy metaphors, Hawke was indeed, like he thought all those years ago, something else. She was a symbol of rising up each time you fall, and breaking free from predicaments bestowed upon by others. And even with all her flaws that annoyed him at first, what was most important was this: She didn't let him twist into the wind.

And the great wolf… that wolf was not him. Fenrir was not him. And the little wolf made the name Fenris was not him either. Perhaps though, in a way, the gods saw him as the ultimate beast that would bring upon them unholy destruction, but secretively, the universe dictated the wise wolf to be a bringer of good once out of those shackles. Fenrir was not a dismal failure. They bound him to buy more time, but his growth and his years were but preparation to gather his strength, rather than weaken him. He was wise not to convert his strength into weakness in all those years. After all, being the strongest creature of them all, he was the only one who could destroy himself. He could have destroyed himself if he so wished. He could have succumbed to his own lethality against himself.

The only thing that was surely him though, resounded from the way she spoke his name. There was no mythological or fatalistic meaning conveyed to it. He was not some bizarre wreckage that somehow fascinated her. She was not either, as it turned out. The name though, there was a warm sound that made it. There was only a melody, a whisper, a force of something good, that gave his name the sound it deserved. Recognition, acceptance, hope and strength. Nothing of that sound set a tone to despair.

Would it not for that distinct tune of that name he heard out of the mouths of so few – compared to the poison out of so many – yet enough people which simply believed in him, did he not sometimes feel, somewhere deep down in the caverns and remnants of his soul, that there was the remotest, slimmest wisp of a chance that he was good and he could thrive?

He was not a dismal failure.

Then another _wisp_ of a thought tickled his soul. One to which he was just as much a stranger as the next man was, but not even a battalion of hunters could drown away and kill its evermore powerful luster – That his name had always and for a long time, felt safe in her mouth.

He beckoned suddenly, for her to give him the brush and the picture. Hawke nodded and reached for them, then stretched her arm out to give to him.

He gazed at the portrait for a moment. He saw a man whose green eyes were soulful, the very mirror of patience. He took those who crossed his path indiscriminately except for their nature and the power they held over others. Therefore, he would not judge by age, physical endowments, or blessings bestowed by nature or fate. He had no pride or vanity to lead him to a hierarchy of intended cruelty, but in turn had one simple rule: be good or be dead.

The rampant greenery in his eyes said however, that he did not enjoy the act of killing.

It also said that he was burdened by a night creature that hovered in the deep shadows. A dusty, peaceful creature who enjoyed his time alone and away from the music of the world just as much as he despised it, for in truth he could never really shut down his ears to that music.

There was an uglier, degraded and utterly blasphemous music he wanted to cancel out.

He thought he heard people whispering in the ancient Tevene tongue. He was not going to allow this! He would not go mad. Enough! The only soul he had ever truly felt like sipping the coffee for to know if it was just alright said, "Live." It was time for action. To get up and get going. He was suddenly all strength and purpose. In contrast, his long nights of mourning and brooding had been equivalent to his ritual initiation; surviving death and agony had been the intoxicant; comprehension had been the transformation.

It was over now, he had escaped that life and he was arguably free, and the meaningless world was tolerable and need not be explained. And never would it be, and how foolish he had ever been to think so. The facts of his new predicament warranted action.

But how did Fenris look to that meaningless tolerable world?

At times he looked shrewd and even hateful. He knew plenty. When others looked at him, his green eyes were unflinching and passive.

Yes, there was this extremely unnerving mask he inadvertently, or perhaps deliberately yet ever unconsciously wore. It sculpted an elf so harsh and cold that he seemed to have forgotten what it ever meant to have a soul or be in pain. Indeed, he always seemed to people as if he had forgotten overnight, if he ever knew it. A quick killer, a pitiless and seemingly thoughtful but eternally secretive thing. He appeared low-voiced, unintentionally vicious, glacial, forbidding, ungiving, a wanderer through the forests of the far north, like a slayer of giant bears and white tigers, an indifferent legend to some untamed tribe and a miserable resentful nobody walking the lonely dark streets of civilized Kirkwall, something more akin to a prehistoric reptile than an elf or a man.

_That_ Fenris, that seemed virtually useless to anyone but himself.

Yet still Fenris, who had most ironically never vanished, who had always been known to those few people he worked with… and who was easy to track and just as easy to abandon.

But then again, forget this horrific effigy of a resigned, abysmal and dejected soul. Forget, forget, forget.

He would always forget, for there was also in him the kind of perceptive creature who enjoyed listening to the whispers of a melody in front of him that was giving forth her piercing and irresistible song with no sought for personal gain and who was also indiscriminate towards the ones she either fancied or despised. The kind of remediable, hopeful music of a fellow lost soul which could very accurately bring the burned remnants of his soul back to life and push him however gently to look into the mirror and behold the other, good and honorable things about him he also stubbornly resolved to forget and remain but a moral failure and a pale ghost that roamed the earth in that darting silence. It made him speak. It made him howl. It made him unlock the door that pushed those burned remnants down and instead propel them out with a tremendous light not very different than her own.

She was there, first and foremost, whenever he needed her, and where no other ever had been before.

At times, perhaps because of this, he felt a huge exhilaration, a freedom from all falsehoods and conventions, all means by which a soul or body can be held hostage. And then the awesome nature of this freedom spread itself out around him when she was there as if his mansion did not exist, as if the darkness knew no walls.

Hawke, ever the maverick and the laughing trickster. Shorter than him, even he knew though he kept silent about it as not to anger her with a remark that would only sound arrogant from him, with huge warm dual-colored eyes, light with green and dark with brown, and thick flashy red hair, only very delicately square of jaw, with a generous beautifully shaped rosy mouth and skin pale by the cold of her mother country. A lady who was not by far a glass of fashion, but evermore the fan of armory and pointy, sturdy, dark items of clothing that only subtly showed the eternal visage of her femininity; the most bold and disregarding dusty vagabond on occasion, a loner, wanderer, a heart-breaker she could have been dime a dozen, and a wiseass with no equal other than himself on most occasions.

Of course, there were many times in which he would find no words to either talk or battle her, because there were times in which time seemed to stop and he would behold in front of him a powerful beauty out of what felt like the deepest and most ancient soul of Ferelden, fierce with the moral fiber of the old Knight class amongst the strange and independent populace of her country.

When one first sees Hawke, she seems too beautiful to hurt anyone.

That made a terrible contradiction in his eyes in the Alienage when he saw her and the immense gore she had made out of the Tevinter soldiers all on her own. She was too ravishing for any man and should be the grandest envy of females. And when she walked, she moved as a wraith throughout the world, utterly divorced from it, as if the places are not real to her, and she, the ghost of a dancer, seeks for some perfect setting she alone can find. That was something Fenris resounded with very greatly with his being himself.

There were only fleeting recollections of that constant aura wrapped around them both, that night of rising into the stars, of seeing the scope of life in its cycles, of accepting perfectly just for a little while that the moon would always be changing, and the sun would set as it always rose.

Perhaps Hawke and Fenris both fancied within, that they were fellow victims of a powerful intellectual morality, an infatuation with the concept of purpose, indifferent to roots, race or fate, two lost ones, and veterans of the same war.

Then there was this dilemma of her powers. Her skills and strength as a warrior certainly rivaled his own and he would never wish to find himself one day having to battle her as she did Armand in that terrible setting. A duel at Satinalia, that was more pretend and dance around for show than anything else and the only thing he had striven to be precise with was not to cut her dress. Anything else was but a friendly dance, indeed. A real battle with all their strength and will, would have been the death of both of them.

And yet she could also kindle objects and men alike into fire with the power of her mind, form rainstorms and vanish in the dark sky, slay whoever and whatever menaced her, and yet she did not wish to and strove as much as she could to have no part in that world. More than that, she seemed so harmless, forever feminine though indifferent to gender, a wan and plaintive woman whom he wanted to close in his arms.

She was ever quick of wit and tongue and eager for reasonable solutions, possessed of infinite patience – beneath the mask of utter impulsivity –, a grand speck of unquenchable curiosity and a refusal to give up on the fate of herself, or of her family, or of her friends, or of this world. No knowledge can defeat her; tempered by fire and time, she was too strong for the horrors that pegged at her at every step and the last events in the catacombs forever proved it yet again.

She thought often times that he saw her as a mage brat who knew nothing, and he knew plenty. That she was loaded with easy and whatever kept her so alive and animated and quick to survive and work and butt into the affairs of almost anyone she had a problem with was but a ripe sense of childish freedom as an undefeated warrior who no one would guess was also an apostate. But unbeknownst to her for a long time, he had always suspected her own suffering had been terrible; he did not sought however, perhaps out of an unconscious feeling of empathy, to break the great and feisty carapace of her demeanor to discover some raw bloody tragedy beneath it. After all, patience he had plenty and in her words it would have spoiled all the fun. To know Hawke, there is always time.

Yes, Hawke, not a bad friend to have, and one for whom he would lay down his life as he had already done a few many times before, one for whose love and companionship he had often times hoped in his most private dark corner of his soul to conserve, and one whom he more often than not found maddening and fascinating and intolerably annoying; one without whom he could exist, but cannot bear to live.

Then he quickly brushed off the name _Fenrir_ with his gauntlet and wrote in white letters, with a curiously more precise calligraphy, _Fenris_. The first letter he painted in full, rampant lines that seemed to catch wings as the steady color stretched and flew away, but was forever tangled in its homey roots. He gave it back to her with a cold, patient expression.

She looked at it only for a flash of a second, then shot him a great smile, "Rebellious are we?"

To that, Fenris raised the glass of dark wine and returned her smile with a triumphantly wide grin as he leaned behind, "Suffice it to say, I am to enjoy the irony."

* * *

><p><strong>Back Into The World Yet Again<strong>

When I awoke, it was because the carriage jolted horribly.

"_Kaffar,_" came a growling sound, just when I opened my eyes.

"Kaffar-har-har to you too," I heard Varric's voice up ahead.

I felt the cool fresh air come down around my neck and felt it on my cheek. The noise however, brought me around. What was it that was crushing me so badly? My vision started to clear, and there came a grand realization as the cherry on top of all realizations that day yet again – I had either just fell with my head in Fenris's lap and that's why he cursed, or I had slept there the entire time and that's why he cursed.

When I turned my head above, I knew, I positively knew, I was in fact there in his lap and caught his eyes staring down at me. I smiled crookedly. "I, uhm, well, yeah."

To my utter surprise, Fenris smiled down at me though with faint air of coldness, so I couldn't really make up if he was annoyed or not when he whispered in his low voice, "Venturing into foreign lands a little early this morning, aren't we?" Perhaps he cursed because my head had viciously crushed the chance of him having a family someday, now I wagered.

"What morning? It's dark," I said while rubbing my eyes, as if that was that was the thing of grandest importance in our current setting.

"We are deep into the forest," Fenris said calmly, looking up above.

"Yeah we are," I mumbled quickly and then wanted to hit myself.

His legs vibrated under me as he chuckled shortly. Then again, as if not for the others to hear, he whispered, "I had the strangest dream."

I gulped suddenly and looked above and my eyes went almost painfully in the back of my head as I tried to make up the scenery through the small window. "Not as strange as mine, I wager."

Indeed, the heavy touch of the night was approaching the crack of dawn, but even so the faintest of light was fading fast. The forest was too thick to be safe it seemed, but the more dire matter was that Varric and Isabela were picking their way counting on the instinct of the horses more than their own failing vision. The pale half-moon seemed in love with the clouds. The sky itself was nothing but bits and pieces thanks to the canopy of the foliage above us, never mind the covers of the carriage itself. Alas, we shouldn't complain. At least we had the safety of cover.

Fenris whispered back very quietly, "We were riding a gondola back in the city that was driving itself and we were drinking from the one glass of wine that seemed to be self-replenishing."

I widened my eyes as well as my mouth, remaining speechless. While stuttering horribly, I finally asked, "That's it?"

He furrowed his brows as if to catch the memory again. "I don't quite remember much." He raised a courageous little eyebrow and looked back down on me. "What did you dream about?"

I swallowed deeply and wished the carriage would jolt again. With the quickness of wit, my tongue let slip, "I was having tea with Senechal Bran and he paid me a compliment."

"Oh?" Fenris said, his expression most amused, yet cold. He looked back forward. "I think your dream won in terms of utter insanity."

"Dreams are like that," I muttred with a hand over my forehead. I looked up at him. "How did I get here?"

"You… fell?" Fenris muttered coldly, without looking down anymore. "I certainly did not put you there."

"Then… why are you not smacking me over the head or something?" I whispered sharply.

Fenris appeared to not have heard me, but then for some reason he started frowning as he looked down at me. "You look awful."

"Why thank you," I muttered rapidly with narrowed eyes.

"You're welcome," Fenris said unemotionally, then he raised an eyebrow, "But in all seriousness, you look weaker than when you went to sleep," he whispered again as if this was not meant for the others to hear, but their sitting was all open for the public eye to see without conveying much importance. "Hawke."

"Mmm, heh- what?" I muttered. I had my eyes closed and could scarcely bring them to open again, now I realized.

"You're fading," I heard Fenris say.

"No, I –_uh,_" I mumbled and yawned heavily, "I am ready to," I yawned again, "take over."

"Yes, and my little toe there is the Queen of Ferelden," I heard Fenris mumble.

I moved my head, but couldn't open my eyes. I yawned again and said in-between, "Ferelden has no queen."

"Well there, you've shed even greater clarity to the point I was trying to make," came again his grumpy voice.

"No-"

I suddenly felt a hand very cool and smooth over my head, petal-soft yet heavy as it stroked my hair it seemed. "Sleep."

"N-"

I couldn't focus my eyes. Darkness suddenly obscured everything, and out of this darkness there rose a shape before me, a figure bending over me, Fenris looking right into my face as his hair fell down on me. "If you prefer," came his deep voice ever firmly, "I could now commence to that smacking over the head you mentioned earlier."

"Mhm," I mumbled, not at all comprehending that I moved on my side and buried my face against his waist.

"I thought so," whispered Fenris flatly as I felt him rise back up. I was utterly imprisoned into darkness, and the numbing of my senses was most annoying. All I did feel quite pronounced, or maybe I'd imagined it or felt it wrong, was a coarse hand touching my cheek gently, almost respectfully. I could hear distantly the sounds of the galloping horses and Varric's storytelling-mode voice engaged, and some lonely tunes of early birds singing. I was safe, at least that much was so.

Finally sleep came. It came totally and completely and sweetly; the net of nerves which had held me suspended and maddened simply dissolved, and I sank down into a dreamless darkness this time. I was conscious of that sweet point where nothing for the moment matters except to sleep, to replenish and to fear yet no dreams, and then nothing.

* * *

><p><strong>2 days later, Somewhere close of Ansburg<strong>

Honorably enough, there lurked a great turmoil in my soul, which only meant I had to rapidly resolve to push it down and terminate it with alcohol. I drank, well, I drank more than I could count on my fingers, and it didn't seem to care that Antivan brandy was that one little drink that made me utterly pissy and hot-headed rebellious. Remember my angry philosophical rant to Sebastian in which I somehow managed to scream "orgasm" in a speech about religion?

I was at the back of the carriage with Fenris again, while Varric was in the front with Isabela but with his back turned to the road, and he was telling the story of how he bullshitted both the Coterie and the Orlesians into giving him the brandy meant for the Viscount from the Antivan Prince at Kirkwall's Independence Day.

"And Olimpy-dingly-ding didn't even flinch! Not one hiss, shudder, nothing, even if they were pretentiously insulting us! The bastard kept shooting them his charming smile and they bought our bullshit in the end, can you believe it?" Varric shouted happily.

"Hhh-onestleh, I dooh," I mumbled incoherently, laughing to no end. I was smoking my legendary cigarillo inside, which made Fenris want to strangle me, _and _which I suspect he magically did, through his thoughts, because I was coughing like a mad rat.

"Then I drank my sorrows away with him, since Grumpy McCouldntCareLess here didn't wanna join in our most offensive vagabond setting," Varric said meanly while pointing at Fenris.

"I did not join because I was already tired of drunken maidens stumbling upon my feet," Fenris said in annoyance, crossing his arms.

"Pfh-well, you seem to have regained your strength, Sir," Varric chuckled at pointed at me, who was smoking in nonchalance and sipping my brandy without even much listening.

"We are sitting down," Fenris articulated unemotionally.

"And I am not a maiden," I said confidently, raising my bottle towards them.

"No?" Varric asked sweetly. "I didn't spot any red chest hair in your cleavage the other day, Madam."

"Miss, please," I corrected in amusement. "And not red chest hair."

"Strange," Varric cupped his chin. "It says it is not a maiden, yet it demands of me to address _it _as Miss."

"Varr-_hec,_" I mumbled and with my eyes closed, swaying with my head. "You chhoud call me Bob _h-_and I wouldn't care lesser."

"Could you care morer?" Varric asked with a raised eyebrow, mocking me.

"The morest I care right now," I gestured and almost hit Fenris over the face if he hadn't dodged my hand entirely, "Is to get backinmaownbed."

"Whoever gave her the third bottle is a pitiful little idiot," Fenris muttered grumpily.

I narrowed my eyes and swayed, and pretended to have Zevran's accent as I gestured, "Now why do you sting?"

"That is the alcohol burning what is left of your smoked throat," Fenris said calmly, snatching the bottle away from me before I realized a few too many seconds later.

"Now why did you do that?" I asked in outrage, but completely forgot the next second, so I repeated drunkenly, "Now why did you do that?"

"Let her drink, Broody, she deserves a good old ride under the hippity-hoppity moon after all she's been through," Varric protested sweetly.

Fenris was scowling at both of us, from what I could see, and remember. "I will give it back to you if you can tell me who is ruling your country at the moment."

"Some bastard no doubt, most of them are," I mumbled ineloquently.

"And the name of that regal bastard is?" Fenris asked grumpily.

"Al-, Ah…" I muttered, all too shrinking from the fearsome waiting eyebrow that was arching towards Heaven on Fernris. "A-"

"Seven more letters to go," Varric chuckled lively.

"-loe ver-," I shouted.

"Those are only six," Fenris muttered sharply with half-lidded eyes.

"Well who _sh-o_ught you th-_dat, _I wonder?" I protested arrogantly in my drunkenness. "

"Some drunk back in Kirkwall, most of them are," Fenris said grumpily and took a good sip of my damn brandy.

I pressed my lips in annoyance and could scarce remember the line I prepared to give him. Forgetting so quickly everything, and with all colors and sounds and motion amalgamating into what one could only call a flush of utter oatmeal, I caught my head into my hands. "St-_ahp _schpinning," I cried.

"Schmooth," Varric mused and threw a little bottle of brandy in my lap.

Instinct still not forgotten, I caught it right before Fenris could snatch it ruthlessly away from me, but as I did I scratched his hand and he growled shortly, because the nails caught his markings.

"I-" I stuttered, keeping the bottle between my knees, devil that I still am.

Fenris shot me an angry glance and muttered, "Let me guess." He raised a nonchalant little eyebrow. "You're _shorry_?" he asked mockingly and drank from the first stolen bottle.

"Deeply," I said flatly, and clawed away my own bottle open.

"Forgive me if I don't believe you in this state," Fenris said coldly, "and thus cannot take you seriously."

"I forgive you," I nodded calmly with my eyes closed. I hit my head on the board. I didn't seem to notice. I stretched my hand out. "Thus I request that you give me my bottle back."

He stood there with his arms crossed and drinking away without caring. "I reject your request and hereby give you humble notice that you're spilling."

"Wha? I- _oh._" A quarter of my bottle watered away the floor, keeping up the health of the garden that made our tension. "Shit."

"Shit, indeed," Fenris said nonchalantly, almost about to chuckle at my struggle to brush the wetness that made a good half of my pants in questionable places.

Then came the stupidest idea the utter vacuity that was my mind had ever ever ever tickled the sanctum of unreason. "Hey I have an idea."

"Hey I have an idea," I repeated, without knowing I repeated.

"Is it the same idea?" Varric asked in amusement.

"I haven't even said it!" I shouted childishly.

"Say it again in your head, like thirty more times, then resolve if you still think it's a bright idea," Fenris said a bit sharply. He was annoyed with me of course, I had to understand, but at that moment all I knew was that I would do whatever I wanted to do and no other fucks were given that day.

"I have not the strength to repeat it that many times, my dear man," I said almost one-eyed.

"You mean you have not the reason," Fenris corrected me.

"I most certainly do!" I shouted and the brandy came up and out of my bottle and onto the ceiling. "Would it not for my raisin, I would have probably set your ass on fire a good half hour ago!"

"Raisin?" Fenris chuckled. "Did I hear correctly?"

I swayed my head, I tried to remember. "Raisin, reason," I gestured in annoyance. "Potato, poh -_tah -_toh."

"They are not the same thing," Fenris articulated sharply.

I threw my arms up in the air. I could barely catch them back.

"Do you want to hear my idea or not!" I exclaimed in revolt most profound.

"As long as you can blink both eyes at the same time," Fenris said disapprovingly, eyeing me like a dead-set commander, indeed dead-set to be a pain in my ass.

"I stand corrected," I said in protest, almost about to hiss at him. "I should have fireballed your ass a good few hours ago."

"Not within the premises, Hawke," Varric protested calmly, shooting me worried glances.

"Most certainly not!" I said courteously.

"How true," Fenris said to Varric. "Her reason is indeed as she said, not far off from the size of a raisin."

"Do we have a problem, Fenrir?" I asked, without even realizing in my ineloquence what I muttered.

His eyebrows furrowed urgently. "What did you call me?" Fenris asked in alarm, eyes widened.

"_Phh h -_rys," I drawled. "I called you Fenris. Is that not your name?"

He locked that scowl for a few more seconds, before he leaned back in the seat and drank away. "Correct," he muttered.

"Anyheway, back to my ideahah," I mumbled again happily with half-lidded eyes. "Give me a cigarillo, Tethras."

Varric nodded quickly and searched his jacket for another of those life burning bitches. "Catch, Pantaloons."

I didn't catch it. It would have been a terrible damp waste of a good expensive cigarillo if not for Fenris who surprisingly caught it in time, and then with not enough disgust in the world, threw it in my lap where it landed between my legs.

"Sankyou," I nodded with my eyes.

"So what's this big idea?" Varric asked in entertainment, resting his chin against his fist.

I had already forgotten.

Never mind, I remembered.

"I'm going to make a dragon," I said childishly with a big smile and lit my cigarillo with a little magic. "A big mighteh dragon."

"How big is big?" Varric asked urgently, still smiling though.

I ignored him and sought to channel my magic that I would shoot out of my mouth after I took a long enough drag. But the first drags were always for pleasure. I blew out some circles nonchalantly around the carriage.

"Oh, that trick again," Fenris remembered, arms crossed and drinking much hypocritically.

"What trick?" Varric asked eagerly, his eyebrows lifting and his teeth showing.

"This trick!" I uttered happily.

Then, the last thing I saw, in terrible slow motion even – ironical to the rapidness of drunken vision and perception – was Fenris widening his eyes and terror and about to tackle me as he realized what I wanted to do, and what I had not realized was something I did not want to do. I could almost hear in deep, extreme slowness as he growled _Noooo. _

Then came out the fire, shooting and blasting like a rifle up above and out of the covers of the carriage, because I had not remembered that there were traces of alcohol of my own doing up above on the ceiling. The firebolt shot out and made a huge hole in the covers, and we all saw it flying away up in the blue sky and exploding just into a flock of terrified little birds. The carriage jolted with the utterly frightened horses and it moved left to right horribly and made Isabela almost fall out by the edge.

"_Aluvin valla khal,_" Fenris growled urgently. "_Festis kevett femina._"

"What in blazes did you do?!" Isabela screamed.

"Pun intended!" Varric screamed angrily.

"Shit, shit, shit!" I shouted in alarm and rapidly created ice and melted it into water to splash up and above in order to put out the carriage that caught on fire in one too many places.

"I should have smacked you unconscious when I had the chance," Fenris shouted angrily next to me.

"Yeah keep screaming in my ear – that will help me concentrate!" I shouted back in annoyance.

But the worst part was yet to harrow upon us all.

"Uh, guys…" Isabela muttered frightened. "Guys…"

"This is the last time you drink on the road, Hawke," Fenris commanded me ruthlessly. "Kevesh."

"Like I said, keep cursing in my ear, that will CERTAINLY help," I growled back while splashing the water everywhere around the gigantic parched hole.

"GUYS!" Isabela screamed.

"What?!" we all shouted.

We looked forward past her and saw the most ridiculous sight of fate slapping me across the face of my utter impossible stupidity and bad luck.

Two Templars, tanned skin, one blonde, one black-haired with a fuzzy beard, had twisted and turned and stopped at the last gallop of their horses. They came down and approached us urgently.

"Is everything alright here?" the blonde younger Templar asked in an Antivan-sounding accent. Rialto-based, I was sure. Shit.

"Yes, yes, most wonderful," I mumbled and stumbled on my feet, Fenris and Varric catching me both, and as I did only a little more water squirted from my fingers in the harrowing silence that now made this terrible setting.

"Come outside of the vehicle, Miss," the black-haired, older, deeper-voiced Templar said as he was very slowly preparing to reach to his sheath.

Being drunk on Antivan brandy, _and _being myself, _and _somehow forgetting everything that dictated my instincts and knowledge, I sat on the back seat again and smiled drunkenly as I beckoned to them warmly, "No, I'm good, you come in!"

They all shot me glances, both parties no doubt screaming murder and accusation.

"I would prefer it if you did, Miss," the black-haired, blue-eyed big Templar pressed.

"What is this regarding?" Fenris intervened politely.

"Yeah," I said cockily and stumbled. "Do we have a problem here?"

"I'm not in the position to confirm that," the manlier Templar stated vaguely.

_Well, then up yours, Templar_, I thought angrily, grabbed the bottle to take a few sips. Or perhaps I said it out loud and didn't realize.

"Is that alcohol?" the Templar pressed with a scowl. "And on the covers? Is that what caused the explosion?"

I took another sip of nonchalance. "I'm not in the position to confirm that."

"Alright, this is obviously a big misunderstanding," came Varric charmingly. "We were playing with fire, and well, fire played back with us. It happens."

"Indeed it seems that way," the black-haired Templar snarled with control.

"Well, if there's nothing moar," I mumbled and drank again.

"And how did you stop the flames exactly?" the black-haired, more perceptive and accusatory Templar asked with narrowed eyes.

I was going to go all hot-headed stingy again, but Varric cut me in time, "Water of course! Now we can't put out fires with more alcohol, now can we?" he said in a very sweet charismatic tone.

"Unless you have a brain the size of a walnut," I said cockily, although I shouldn't have been the one speaking.

The blonde-haired younger Templar was about to say something, but the black-bearded one came first. "Perhaps this was a," he paused and raised an eyebrow as he sized me up, "misunderstanding."

I raised my pointy finger at him. "Indeed, that was a terrible misunderstanding." Then I added sharply, "Now leave before there's a terrible misunderstanding between my foot and your ass."

That was it, for the black-haired Templar approached again and growled, "I cannot help but take issue with your disgraces."

I turned my head to him nonchalantly, "And I cannot help but take issue with the nasty glances you keep shooting me."

"I cannot help but also notice you have a rather pronounced inconvenience with us," the black-bearded Templar articulated.

"She's an angry drunk, forgive my friend," Varric said charmingly. "She's in good hands."

The black-haired Templar shot Varric a narrow-eyed suspicious glance and remained silent for a second, maybe to blow the horn for his one lonely neuron to finally understand they were being asses. Instead he said, "There is a fugitive female Enchanter from the Circle in Ansburg dubbed apostate that is allegedly also recently deemed a blood mage. We are currently looking after this certain female."

"Allegedly," I articulated mockingly, then snorted and looked at the others. "That is Templar code for we don't know what the hell we're doing, but we're going at it anyway."

"And how may I ask do you know that, Miss?" the black-haired Templar pressed.

"I have a friend in the Guard," I said confidently and shrugged. "I wager it's the same code of fake convictions."

"Do you not have the phylactery to trace this apostate down?" Fenris suddenly intervened in a voice that said he knew plenty of what he was talking about.

The black-haired Templar caught his serious tone and answered him, "It has been recently broken. Now it is fairly a wild goose chase."

"Do I look like a wild goose?" I asked mockingly. I didn't feel it quite yet, but Fenris took a step in front of me. Then did I only realize that water and ice were still squirting out of my hands.

"Forgive my remark, for it is _'_stupid' Templar code, but you do sound like wild goose," said the black-bearded unconvinced Templar.

"Oh," I stuttered, a bit freezing, either from the ice or from my fright. "Then by all means resume to your chase."

"I think that is not necessary," pressed the black-haired Templar and went for the sword in his sheath.

It was final. Once a Templar was onto you, his numskull lyrium abilities would trace the magic in your system as soon as they commenced to it. This was final and I had not but one dagger stuffed in my pants now. And my friends were all going to be in trouble if we didn't manage to defend ourselves. No. I would not allow that. My heart was in my mouth, but I was going to step in and let myself over to the Templars. I could get out of their hands later. Even in my drunkenness, I did not lose that one wisp of reason that said this was not my friends' battle to harrow because of my absolute stupidity.

A second too late I took that step, for what cut me was Fenris. "Enough," he growled. He stepped out of the carriage and stood with his back straight like a soldier and took a bow in front of the Templars. _What the hell?_ everyone probably asked, all only stealthily reaching for their weapons in silence.

"I am Knight-Lieutenant, F-" he paused only for a flash, "Finufaranell," he articulated in control and coughed, every one of us trying not to snort, "From the Circle of Ferelden." He pointed at me sharply. "And I have this 'wild goose' in my custody. Therefore I must disappoint you, but you have the wrong goose."

"Forgive me for asking, Knight-Lieutenant," said the wiseass black-haired Templar with narrowed eyes, "But how exactly did an elf in Ferelden come to that rank?"

"I do not forgive your disgrace," Fenris pressed commandingly. "Perhaps the Circle in Ansburg or Rialto or wherever you come from has not yet set the tone for fairness and indiscrimination in our modern times," he said with an edge to his voice and crossed his arms, "but the Circle in Ferelden has, all under the righteous wing of our good king Alistair."

Seeing how the indomitable Fenris pressed so hot-headedly with the sharp, spitting edge of patriotism, the blonde-haired Templar immediately intervened, "No need. This is indeed a terrible misunderstanding." He nodded politely to Fenris. "My fellow Lieutenant and I trust that you will not let her out of your sight and endanger any of our citizens."

Fenris shrugged. "I keep her sedated."

The black-haired wiser Templar narrowed his eyes again, but instead of asking exactly how that worked, he shot a glance to him. "I understand that the Templars in Ferelden are much more," he raised an accusatory eyebrow, "open-minded and free with their way of conduct and apparel, but how does a former Dalish take interest with this kind of duty?"

I didn't for the love of bullshit know what was happening, but Fenris didn't seem to flinch or yield. He kept his tone sharp and flat, "I am _not_ Dalish. But with our more _open-minded _approach, there have been recent progresses in perfecting our abilities." He crossed his arms again proudly. "All because of the humble generosity of our good king Alistair."

I was going to snort and blast my brains out, my lungs were utterly collapsing, and the muscles in my torso were fiercely pulsating from the incredible bullshit Fenris could pull with such an unconquerable and resolute attitude.

"Oh?" asked the blonde-haired Templar eagerly. "What _do _they do exactly?"

"I do not have time for this," Fenris pressed fearsomely, his eyes falling halfway to shoot them trembling. "Have your Knight-Commander write a letter to our own in Ferelden if you wish to dabble into our abilities."

"They're lyrium, you dumbskull," said the black-bearded Templar and nudged the other. "They probably solve our little addiction problem."

"See, that wasn't so hard was it," Fenris uttered superiorly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must hurry," he gestured with pronounced discomfort, "all with my second blasted carriage this filthy mage has ever so nicely ruined yet again."

"Well, what else can you do to me, really?" I pretended to shout angrily. "If you don't get me back in one piece, they're gonna strip you of your rank all with your mighty elven dignity."

"Keep silent, apostate," Fenris fired back sharply, without even turning to look at me. He bowed to the Templars shortly. "Farewell."

"Farewell," the black-haired Templar nodded chivalrously.

I could have kissed him right then and there, but I feared he would have viciously slapped me out of consciousness if I did.

As the Templars hopped back on their horses and drove off while shooting us strange glances yet again, Varric came all over Fenris and patted him on the hip. "Knight-Leutenant Finufaranel." He broke into laughter. "I wouldn't have even begun to think of such a perfect name for a Ferelden elf, or for well, you, in all my years with you, Captain."

I stood corrected. I stood all the hell corrected and the gods could strike me down now and I still couldn't believe that Fenris did this. I didn't believe him in the catacombs when he told the story of our little conversation on the roof of the Hanged Man, but now I was all out of protests and bluff calls. And boy did he bluffed it with remarkable invulnerability and command with those Templars… He was the proud owner of the Amell Estate indeed. And I could scarce bring myself not to jump at his neck.

"I-" I stuttered, all tense and petrified.

"You're _welcome_," Fenris articulated bitterly. But his words were labored carefully in front of the others for me to understand "Say nothing. You don't have to."

At that I went to him, running, childlike, flinging myself at his neck, kissing his icy cheek a thousand times despite his contained and mock-disdainful smile. And despite the others seeing. It was after all, a natural reaction, I thought to myself.

"Well spank me on the ass and call me Granny," Isabela said and stretched her arms in smiles. "Fenris bullshitting Templars all on his own, without even the slightest help from the dwarven paragon and ship captain of bullshit." She entangled her fingers and inhaled. "I couldn't be prouder of you right now."

"You can be prouder by shutting your mouth," Fenris uttered grumpily, appearing as though he didn't even notice the crazy clown mage that was clutching at his neck and owing him everything from here on to eternity.

"You get a thousand drinks on my tab for this, my friend," Varric nodded charmingly, all silvery grins to contain his utter relief at how close we were to really be in trouble. "And it's my name-day very soon, so you know it's gonna be terrific."

"I'll hold you to that," Fenris said flatly, still not looking at me.

I kissed his cheek again with a loud _Muah, _pressing it against my lips as hard as I could, despite the loud rolling of his eyes and the distressed grimaces he made. When Isabela came into the carriage all exhausted and ready to sleep and Varric hopped in the front seat, Fenris gave me his first wink in history, as grumpy and unnerving as it was. Or maybe it was a flinch.


End file.
